Interphase
by The Freelancer Collaboration
Summary: A companion series of one-shots to our Project Freelancer Saga, featuring a range of moments and tales, from the wacky, the romantic, the depressing, the action-filled and the sensational. Written by a variety of writers, and featuring a vast range of characters, ships, drabbles, occasional crossovers, prompt responses etc.
1. My New Obsession

**(A/N) Hey guys, NicKenny speaking, here to launch our latest fic! This one, Interphase, will consist of a variety of one-shots written by the writers of The Freelancer Collaboration, through the various characters which appear in our Project Freelancer Saga series, which currently include Phase One: Genesis, and Phase Two: Betrayal. This opening one-shot, from Arkansas' point of view and, strangely enough, has been written by the fabulous WargishBoromirFan, rather than myself!**

**Know you'll enjoy this! **

* * *

**My New Obsession**

**Agent Arkansas**

**Written by WargishBoromirFan**

* * *

"_I went to a fight the other night, and a hockey game broke out_." ― Rodney Dangerfield

* * *

One of the first things Arkansas had discovered about his new roommate was that, at least while in the right mood and given the right topic, Georgia could be a consummate researcher. Another was that the shorter man hated to "make Ark feel left out," and so he had been ignoring the Grifball factoids bounced his direction with thinner and thinner layers of sarcasm.

"...And the pro league ain't just limited to Earth; there're teams from as far out as Haven that I've come across so far; wanna see if there're any from your hometown?" Georgia leaned backwards from the data-pad he'd been furiously scanning, offering brief upside-down eye contact before Ark returned to his own reading. None of it was the links Georgia had sent him within the past hour, though they glutted his inbox.

Ark's lips twisted into something that might be mistaken for a grin. "Trust me, I know there weren't any local teams. We didn't have the equipment." Or the standing buildings. Or the living people.

"Well, you went to school closer to the inner colonies, right? Some kinda fancy military academy?" Ark shrugged. They weren't supposed to be talking about their pasts. He didn't want to talk about his past. "Surely there oughta've been some sorta intramural there, at least. Probably was one at Tech, too, but I never paid it any attention between the broomball and battle-bot ads." Georgia offered an airy, careless wave as he switched to another video on his data-pad. "Kinda wish I'd given more things a second look, now, but I grew up with football and figured I could play that pretty well, plus, well, you probably had a tougher drill sergeant than our ROTC guys; you know what that was like and Tech wasn't even that serious a program - oh hell, the drownproofing course was pretty damn medieval, but they figured buncha engineers would be goin' for the nice cushy pencil-pushin' desk jobs, military grants 'stead o' frontline work, but where's the fun in that, right?"

"Right." Fun. Georgia had joined Project Freelancer for fun. Maine and Penn had tried to kill each other and Alaska talked to walls, but Arkansas had gotten the crazy one for a roommate. Just remember why you're here, he reminded himself. A meeting of like minds would have been nice, but that was not the goal.

"But may as well check out the minor leagues; see what the spirit looks like without all the merchandising; that's what I can't be bothered with 'bout pro football - you don't get to just see the players play unless you can afford stadium tickets, and when are the likes o' us ever able to even predict when we'll be in town for a game and... huh. Ark?" He'd been letting his roommate's voice wash over him like an excitable but inconsequential tide when Georgia suddenly silenced himself, staring at the latest search result to pop up on his data-pad in near-perfect stillness.

Ark offered him a half-curious "hmm?" out of courtesy, not quite sure whether or not he really wanted to know what had caught Georgia's attention.

Georgia turned in his chair, stood, and brought his data-pad over to Ark. "Even if you look at nothin' else about Grifball, look at this."

There was a video embedded in the article, titled something about "Minor League Game, Major League Riot." It was paused on the image of a surging crowd wading in around a handful of armoured Grifball players, only one or two of them still armed. Many of their weapons had ended up in the hands of rowdy sports fans, including a tall blonde woman snatching away a hammer from some poor unlucky sod on the blue team. Ark hit the play button, Georgia leaning over his shoulder as they watched her deck the player Georgia later identified as the "hybrid" twice with the hefty, shockwave-inducing mallet before another eerily familiar tall blond male pulled it out of her hands and dragged her off the injured player. There might have been some explanation for her actions amidst the noise of the swarming madness, but what audio wasn't overshadowed by other cries had been censored by the broadcasters.

Ark himself had no words. After a long, thoughtful silence and a second viewing, all Georgia offered was a breathless, "I think... I think this might possibly be love."

"And I thought football hooligans were nuts," Arkansas muttered to himself. Later research turned up that some heiress local to the teams featured in Georgia's video had gotten herself a permanent ban from their league, no explanation given as to why, though rumours circled that it had cost the family a pretty penny to keep the minor league quiet. Maybe Georgia's research could be interesting, after all.


	2. Anniversary

**(A/N) Hey guys, time for our second one-shot! Just a quick not to let you all know that we're currently looking for applications for Agent Texas, and those interested can submit an application form on our forum! Another quick note, from Mina, that the song in this one-shot is "Let Me Go" by Avril Lavigne!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Anniversary**

**Agent Colorado**

**Written by Minaethiel**

* * *

"_In sorrow we must go, but not in despair. Behold! we are not bound for ever to the circles of the world, and beyond them is more than memory."_ – J.R.R. Tolkein

* * *

_"It's Blake… he's… he's dead."_

I stared down with wide eyes at the picture of my younger brother. His blonde hair was tousled in the sunlight, and his green eyes – exactly like mine – were sparkling in laughter of a joke that had long since passed. The picture had been taken when he had turned thirteen. I knew that much at least. However Blake's picture was not the only one that I held gingerly in my hands. My own face stared back at me, a smirk I often wore painting my expression. Next to me, and smiling broadly, was Aaron. His mousy brown hair was in disarray, and his hazel eyes were just as warm as I remembered them.

_Love that once hung on the wall_

_Used to mean something, but now it means nothing_

_The echoes are gone in the hall_

_But I still remember, the pain of December_

I breathed out, clutching the dog tags around my neck. The anniversary of Blake's death had passed. However today… today marked one year since Aaron's death. In the solitude of my room, I felt secure enough to release the tightly-held control I had over my feelings, and I knew that a profound look of sadness had descended on my face. _How had it been a year?_ Time had passed so fast; it almost didn't seem real to me. Still, I had never once mistaken any of this for a dream. No matter how many times I woke up, Aaron would be gone.

"Hey," I said hoarsely. "I'm sorry I haven't talked to you in a while. Been busy around here lately, hunting the Crimson Sun down. You remember what I told you about them. You'd be proud of me, Aaron – I'm trying to tone it down."

_I didn't start until Neb suggested it though_! I realized with a pang that caused me to shake slightly. Still, looking at the pictures of Aaron and Blake, I clenched my free fist, closing my eyes in pain. For so long everything had been about Blake and Aaron. All of my choices, all of my kills… it had all been for them. And now… now I realized that I was living more for them than for me.

_I'm breaking free from these memories_

_Gotta let it go, just let it go_

_I've said goodbye_

_Set it all on fire_

_Gotta let it go, just let it go_

Stifling back a choked sob, I pocketed both of their pictures, and slipped my helmet on. No one needed to know what I was going to do.

WhatI _had _to do.

Immediately I made sure replace the façade that I had been so careful to maintain. I was arrogant. I was strong. I was the peak of what a Freelancer could be. I was invincible. I passed several Freelancers in the hall, but none stopped me. A couple called out a greeting, though I returned them with nothing more than a nod. A soldier passed by me with a lighter on his belt, and I easily lifted it, ignoring the protest behind me as I continued to the observation room I knew so well. My secondary safe haven from the madness of the ship.

Luckily, it was empty. I expected Cal to be by later – he seemed to spend a lot of time here as well… but I'd be gone by then. I sighed, removing the pictures and holding them in my hand. Finally, I allowed a soft sob to escape, and I fell to my knees.

"I'm sorry," I cried softly to the pictures. "I'll never forget either of you, but I need to live for _me_."

Without hesitation, I flicked the lighter on, holding both pictures so that the flame would devour them. There was no need to keep them in my hands – I'd remember their faces. I would remember everything about them. They'd always stay with me.

_I've broken free from those memories_

_I've let it go, I've let it go_

_And two goodbyes led to this new life_

_Don't let me go, don't let me go_

The pictures finally were nothing but bits of ash and crinkled paper. And for what I hoped was the last time, I cried for Blake, and I cried for Aaron. Two people that I would never forget, whether or not the pain ever truly left.


	3. Winter Wonderland

**(A/N) Another one-shot, heading your way, written by the always sensational anna1795! Still looking for Agent Texas applications, but only for the remainder of this week, so if you're interested I'd head over to our forum and get a move on!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Winter Wonderland**

**Agent Virginia**

**Written by anna1795**

* * *

"_When I was young I didn't understand, but now, I know, how absence can be present, like a damaged nerve, like a dark bird." _― Audrey Niffenegger, _The Time Traveler's Wife_

* * *

_'This is the _LAST TIME_ that my sister gets sick…ever,'_ Virginia thought to herself, stepping out of their room and waving her hands around to cool them from handling a hot bowl of chicken soup. Even through the door, she could hear her sister's wheezing through a stuffy nose and clogged throat, but she couldn't go back inside now. She needed to sleep and get better soon, mostly because the Director wanted her going on missions soon and he'd get grumpy with Virginia if she didn't produce some sort of results.

Virginia took a tired look down at her watch and noticed that it was in the early hours of the morning. She just barely noticed the date. _January 17th._ Suddenly, her mind woke up for real. "Yes!" She pumped her fist into the air and started running towards the training room, her jade-coloured scarf flapping behind her in her excited dash. She paid no mind to the grunts that passed her and gave her odd looks, and she neatly dodged around Maine on his way to the dining room. Songs were playing in her head as she went, pulling a pair of gloves from her pocket and pulling them on as she ran through the door to the training room.

"F.I.L.S.S., can you activate simulation 117?" she asked sweetly, bouncing back and forth on her heels like a child asking for a cookie.

"Yes, of course, Agent Virginia. You seem to be in a good mood today," the ship's A.I remarked.

"Today's just a good day," Virginia smiled at the computer screen and answered, entering the "Danger Room". Instead of white walls and floors, she looked out on a snowy meadow, surrounded by a few aspen trees and small, rolling hills. With a youthful innocence that she barely let anyone see, she giggled and closed the door behind her, rolling down a hill and covering her thin jacket and untied hair in snowflakes. The "sky" was grey and small flecks of snow danced down onto the ground. She sat up and saw one land on the end of her nose, where it melted into a cool drop of water. She crossed her eyes to see the quivering droplet and chuckled, shaking it off her nose with a twitch and standing up again.

With quiet purpose, she picked up a handful of snow and began to form it into a decent sphere, then roll it along the ground. It picked up an almost endless amount of snow from the ground, making the ball grow larger and larger as it went along towards the centre of the meadow. When it was about half her size, Virginia let it stand alone, picked up another sphere of snow, and rolled that one in circles around the base. She picked it up at the end of its journey and set it atop the larger base, making sure that it was perfectly centred. One more handful of snow grew a bit larger in her hands until it was the size of a soccer ball, and she gently set it atop her plain masterpiece with careful tenderness.

"Now for the trimmings," she told herself, grabbing her satchel and resituating her slightly askew scarf. She pulled out a bag of small chocolate chip cookies, opened them up, and set two of them on the smallest ball of snow, forming a pair of variant brown eyes. Next came a box of liquorice pieces that were placed evenly apart in a soft smile. The third step was a long carrot that she gently set as the nose, making sure that it was secured in the centre of the snowman's face. Finally, she brushed off an old cap with marine camo colouring and a peeling stitched badge on the front reading 'ROGERS' in faded black thread. Puffing it out with her hand, she set it jauntily on the snowman's head, marvelling at the creation that was slightly taller than her. Kind cookie eyes stared down at her, and the sweet, liquorice open-mouth acted like it was giving her a greeting or a toothy smile from the snow.

Virginia slowly pulled her satchel off her shoulder and her scarf off from around her neck, letting them drop into the snow beside her. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around the snowman's middle, burying her face into where a shoulder would be with a bright smile and watery eyes. Sometimes, she'd imagine that there'd be broad arms sweeping around her shoulders and returning the favour.

"Happy birthday, Dad," she whispered quietly to the snowman, as the snow continued to fall around them.


	4. Your Cranium, From Orbit

**(A/N) Hey guys, time for another one-shot, this time written by Warg, yet again! A bit of bizarre yet brilliant awesomeness for you all, to keep you going til the next, slightly delayed, Phase Two: Betrayal update!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Your Cranium, From Orbit**

**Capt. Scaramouche, ODST**

**Written by WargishBoromirFan**

* * *

"_Bein' a soldier is not hard. If it was, soldiers would not be able to do it." _― Terry Pratchett, _Monstrous Regiment_

* * *

"No." Captain Scaramouche crossed his arms, his eyes narrowed at the man on the other end of the conference call. "Sgt Jenkins is the best technician this unit's ever had. He's inventive enough to upgrade our equipment with spare parts he's found in alien wastelands, can hold his own in a firefight, and insures that we are never out of high-payload explosives."

"I thought you were trying to discourage me from recruiting him," the bespectacled spook countered mildly, hands still folded behind his back. This "Project Freelancer" was not officially associated with any particular military branch and the pale, dark-haired man had been introduced by the appellation of "doctor" rather than any military rank - Director didn't count when Scaramouche had never heard any clear results from the thing he was directing - but everything about him screamed ONI. Scaramouche wasn't against intelligence, per se, just against intelligence being used against his squad.

"I'm letting you know why I can't give up my supply sergeant," Scaramouche insisted. "Without him, several of my men would be smoking craters in the ground."

Count on the one he would like to end up as a crater to interrupt this would-be director without even showing so much courtesy as to put Dr Church in the blast radius. Scaramouche ducked the flying crude helmet and summary rain of twisted burning metal as Church's expression took on a predatory angle. "Like that, captain?"

"Now this is what man was put on this planet to do!" a gruff southwestern accent enthused as the short figure ran into pickup range of the camera and lifted the oversized blackened helmet from behind his captain's desk. "Build robots 'n' explosives! And explosive robots!"

The helmet simply repeated "error" across its viewscreen, the gears inside grinding at disturbing frequencies as Scaramouche glared at the intruder.

"As you can see, the men love him," the captain summarized dryly.

"Doin' your big job reference thing for Jenkins, are you?" the grunt in bright red observed, not taking the hint. "He'll be thrilled if he gets this transfer, y'know. Dang crazy grapefruit likes jumping outta planes."

"Why is this man an ODST?" Church asked the same question that had been going through Scaramouche's head for the past six years.

"Any chance to swoop down mercilessly upon my enemies!" The corporal, as usual, seemed to have no idea of when his feedback was unwanted. "If there's one thing better'n ludicrous gibs, it's a sharp boot to the face and then a shotgun in their temple! Gotta supply that personal touch when killing your foes, so they know that it's not just the faceless, thoughtless war machine grinding them into doom-fritters. It's a hateful, festering, connivin' war machine with a grudge that's been planning eighty-seven different ways to slice, dice, and Julianne-fry their individual doom for years, stayin' up late into the night, watchin' infomercials on the latest dooming gadgets... Quite a few of which have been delivered by our own Sgt Jenkins. You're gonna love workin' with him." Trust him to bring his shaky, unwieldy metaphor right back on exactly the wrong track.

"Who is this man, Captain Scaramouche?" Church inquired. If he had been listening past the whine of deeply abused servos and the rising whistle of his own temper, Scaramouche might have heard the creak of the good doctor's trap as the bait was set.

"Corporal Sargent S. Sarge," Scaramouche answered, restraining himself from adding "the pox upon the entire ODST program and the reason I jump from hell, to hell, with hell."

"S-Dog, to my friends," the corporal added.

"Hey, S-Dog, the cranial unit didn't end up in the captain's office while he was doin' his transfer paperwork, did it?" The golden EOD armour peeking around Scaramouche's door evoked a sudden interest in his caller - the doctor still reacted like an ONI spook, but those dark brows lifted behind the lenses like a cryptozoologist at last offered a ripple on Loch Ness. "Of course it did." Jenkins's shoulders slumped. "Sorry about that, sirs. Won't happen again."

"I am certain that it will not, Sargent Jenkins," Dr Church was the essence of smug, unfeeling cheer, "for in return for your captain's agreement to my transfer request, I would like to offer a... promotion, of sorts, for Corporal Sarge, as well."

"You mean it?" Scaramouche asked. Sarge had descended into a more rambling acceptance speech.

"Of course. We have an army that we are building, an army that requires leadership and drive. Certain names are destined for greatness, are they not?" The Director smiled, or at least turned the corners of his mouth upward. It looked as if he'd forgotten how, even if Sarge and Jenkins sure hadn't.

"Better go pack, corporal. You've got one more plane ride," Scaramouche told him. For once, S-Dog actually obeyed. "Sim troopers get killed fairly frequently there, right?"

"Our training methods are designed to be nonlethal, captain," Church insisted. "At least as long as those involved demonstrate the proper minimum of skill. I trust that this shall not prove a problem for you, will it, Agent Georgia?"

His eyes had strayed to the technician who had been bouncing on his heels behind Scaramouche. "No, sir," the gold-armoured tech saluted him, Jenkins no more.


	5. Overselling It A Little

**(A/N) Hey guys, sorry for the lack of updates over the last month, was doing my end of year exams for college, and hate to put the collab aside and work on that for that period of time. However, I finished my last exam yesterday, and am going to try and upload a chapter for all of our current fics, along with the opening chapters of two new ones, over the next twenty-four hours, so keep your eyes out! Here we have another fantastic one-shot, written by TunelessLyric!**

**Enjoy!**

**Overselling It A Little**

**Written by TunelessLyric**

* * *

"_I crossed a thousand leagues to come to you, and lost the best part of me along the way. Don't tell me to leave." _

― George R.R. Martin, _A Storm of Swords_

* * *

The med bay is so quiet, so sterile and so serene. For a place that sees so much suffering and pain, it's almost beautiful. The sheets are heavy and warm, good for warding off shock. The mattresses are decent enough, designed to remain comfortable to promote bed rest. The lights are harsh to make it easy for medics to see what they're working on. The floors are dull grey. The sheets patterned with the project's emblem.

So why can't you rest easy? Why are you so uncomfortable? The slow drip of pain meds into your arm feels good in a woozy kind of way. Your eyes are sticky with sleep and sweat. Your head pounds in time to your heartbeat. You feel like you've been resting for a long time. No medics have poked or prodded you in quite a while.

Your hold on reality fades and slips from your weak fingers. It lurches in and ebbs out. _In and out. In and… Out._

People visit, you think. They don't say much. Just hold your hand, pat your shoulder – speaking of which, ow! They go away again.

The medics disconnect you from your pain meds. That isn't fun. The removal of the needle embedded in your arm stings like a son of a bitch. The throbbing in your head doubles, triples, no quadruples. That also stings like a son of a bitch.

What happened to you? You try to remember, but the details are fuzzy and hard to grasp. Something about the Director, you think. The more you force it to come back, the woozier you feel, kind of like when you were under the painkiller's influence. But _worse_. It turns your stomach so you stop kicking your memory.

Eventually you can't take it anymore. You raise a hand to shade your eyes, you've been hungover enough times to know the lights are damn bright and opening your eyes after so long is going to hurt. Cautiously, like the first time you stand up after a hard night on the bottle, you screw up your courage and crack open your eyelids.

Result, your face is on fucking fire. But you can see your hand. You decide to call that a success. After a couple minutes your hand starts to go numb and shake. You have to drop it back to your side. Your legs are sprawled over the lower half of the bed. One experimental toe wiggle is enough to prove whatever happened to land you in here didn't paralyze you. That's a massive relief.

Great, so you aren't dead or paralyzed and your arms aren't broken. So, continuing to take stock, it must be something to do with the face. You open your lips and sound comes out, a thin one, but sound nonetheless. You wiggle your nose and flare your nostrils. Hey, this is kind of fun! You try an eyebrow raise. That really isn't any fun as the pain in your head and face redoubles. Okay, you're not doing that again anytime soon.

You push yourself up into a sit. Jeez, it's dead in here. Nobody's around, not even a medic. You stretch your arms until they shake from the effort. That feels awesome. The muscles are stiff, but you work most of that out pretty quickly. While you keep glancing around, you notice something on the nightstand of your sickbed. How did your dogtags end up over there?

You reach for them, they aren't that far after all. Your hand closes and moves to lift them to your chest to hang the chain back around your neck. Only, your fingers don't brush over the cool metal. What the hell? You try again. Same result. If it didn't hurt so much, you'd frown.

A better idea takes shape. You get unsteadily to your feet. The floor is cool under their bare soles. You wobble over to the nightstand. You bump into it, stubbing your toe. You swear. What is going on here? You eye the nightstand warily, half expecting it to lunge at you, because you clearly can't trust it to stay where it is. Between this being farther away and closer than you expect business, you decide you might be dreaming. This is one messed up dream, even for being recently stoned out of your mind on pain meds, you decide.

Well, since you're standing in front of the nightstand now, you stoop to snatch up your dogtags. You overshoot and bang your fingers into the surface. Despite the bruises in those fingertips and the painful throbbing in your poor toe and the splitting headache, you are standing upright and now have your damn dogtags in hand. Hooray for small victories!

You put the chain over your head and settle the metal tags against your chest. That's a relief.

Wait. No it isn't. Something didn't look right when you lifted your hands to your face. You stare fixedly at the far wall and lift your hands like you're about to put something on your head. There! You freeze in place, hands almost touching your cheeks. You start to shiver violently. That explains the numbness in the left side of your face, the pain when you raised your eyebrows, the loss of depth perception. No. _No_, this isn't happening. Someone, please say this isn't real. You're just dreaming.

You can't be blind in your left eye.

You want to cry, but the crumpling of your face hurts too much. The tears won't come and you just sort of turn into a puddle of a man on the floor of the med bay. You sob, dry eyed and feeling broken.

After some time passes, you really can't be sure how long, you manage to get a grip on yourself. You swallow down your horror. It tastes sour and burns on the way down. You claw your way to your feet with the aid of your bed. Moving like a three-legged dog as the room spins around you and beds abruptly stop you in your tracks as you weave through the room – because the door is much farther away than it appears with your wonky depth perception – you pray the medics won't check in for a long time.

The door shuts behind you and hope flares in your chest. You're free!

Half a heartbeat after you're sprinting down the hallway. You slam into a couple walls before you throw your left hand out. You don't even take a second to feel stupid as you stagger as fast as you can toward the locker room. There's a briefing, you know there is. Someone was talking about it the last time you had a visitor. That's where everyone is. You have to get to it. Have to prove you're okay or you'll lose your spot on the leader board. Lose Carolina's respect.

By the time you finally stumble into the locker room, you're breathing hard and very aware that you're only wearing a patient gown. You had to hide a couple times when you thought you heard voices and you're absolutely certain you're missing the briefing, but you just have to be on this mission. You walk smack into the door of your locker and fumble it open.

The person staring back at you from the mirror on the door of the locker is you, but you don't look like you. Your skin is pale and beaded with sweat. Your right eye is bloodshot and sunken into its socket. Your hair is blackened at the ends and, come to think of it, smells singed. Your left cheek is a patchwork of black, purple and yellowed bruising. Your left eye, the one you can't see out of, bulges out in a polar opposite manner from the right eye. It is milky and weeping and gross. Underneath your shiner there are spidery red cuts that look like they could have been left by something sharp.

You drag your half vision from the haggard reflection and peer into your locker. There are two helmets in the bottom. One has a hole in the left side with hairline fractures stretching like greedy fingers across it. The other is whole and shiny and so obviously new. Your armour has flecks of lockdown paint on it.

The image of a grenade and Tex and paint swim behind your eye… Something about Maine. That has something to do with your partial blindness, you know it.

You shake off the memory and remind yourself you have no time to lose. You strap clumsily into your armour, painfully aware of how much easier this used to be.

With a last long look at the broken helmet, you shut the locker. As you head up to the bridge, still dodging Invention personnel, you realize you have to rearrange your HUD. You mash the motion tracker into the right bottom corner, the grenade counter goes under the ammo counter and the compass is just shortened. You honestly don't care about that, you know it's safer this way.

You stop short when you see a guard outside the bridge. _Shit_.

He appears startled by you showing up. He moves to call for help or F.I.L.S.S. or someone, but you hold up your hands peacefully. These guys like you. You put on your most charming voice and promise the guy a beer next shore leave and he steps out of the way.

You stride dramatically through the doors, scanning the room. The team is already assembled, heads bent over the holo-table and cityscape projected there. Carolina's helmet snaps up and Wash's shoulders sag in relief.

The Counselor looks alarmed, but there is no mistaking the annoyance and… approval?... on the Director's face.

"Don't be so quick to give my job away," you say, pushing down the queasy feeling you get when you think about explosions and guns. You have to be okay. You can't screw this up, or you'll lose everything, you'll fall off the board and Carolina won't even look at you.

You take your place beside the redhead and gaze at the blueprint of the city. This is where you belong, half blind or no.


	6. Babies with Green Eyes

**(A/N)** **Hey guys, time for another little one-shot for you all, written by the wonderful WargishBoromirFan, and featuring Agent New York, after his defection from Project Freelancer. I think you'll all have some fun reading this one!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Babies with Green Eyes**

**Agent New York**

**Written by WargishBoromirFan**

* * *

"_There are lives I can imagine without children but none of them have the same laughter &amp; noise."_― Brian Andreas

* * *

He'd wanted kids, when he was younger. Well, honestly he hadn't thought all that much about them in any fashion, before he'd joined the army, but once he'd joined the Project, there was the image of a little one with Momma's electric green eyes invading his dreams. Or two. He wasn't so picky about the numbers, but he had kind of wanted a sibling growing up like his mom had had in Uncle Jimmy, and with the way their leader - Tex might have replaced her as Number One on the leaderboard, but she'd always been and always would be the one to take command of him, heart, soul, and body; his betrayal had hurt and it had been to protect her, to save her - took Wash and the other new kids gruffly under her wing, she might have enjoyed younger brothers and sisters, too. At least, the sort of siblings who weren't used as a goad to push her further towards her breaking point by their father.

That had kind of ruined the dream. On one hand, Tex wasn't so bad as she might seem, and D was D - the little green-eyed final reminder of the project that finally broke out of probable survival ratios run in the middle of the night to make dry, backhanded inquiries as to why York kept injecting new parameters and precedents into those odds, learning sarcasm from York's sorry attempts to improve the statistics.

But on the other...

There had been another little one with hair as flame-red as York could wish for. There had been those two little ones that Carolina had carried, despite the risk to her mind and body. (He had to have known that they would hurt her. York was sure of it.) There had been... Maybe it was just D's eager subservience to the one thing where he couldn't offer any point of logic for his obsession, maybe it was just that that had been the one person Tex had not only unequivocally given a damn about, but had risked everything that had made her the Director's favourite shadow to try to save, but York couldn't bring himself to hate the broken code called Alpha, for all that had originated from it. Those thoughts were saved for the original.

When York carried a grudge, it wasn't as obvious and flaring as South or smoulderingly nursed just beneath the surface like Virginia. Many would suspect that York couldn't get angry. Oh, sure, they would admit, York was an inveterate prankster and could take a joke too far; he was a fine field agent and didn't hold back in the training ring or battlefront, but vengeful? He had been the one to try to "rescue" Tex when his teammates resorted to underhanded live fire in her first test. He was the one who called for restraint when Carolina was tempted to listen to more wrathful voices on the team while hunting Innies. York put up with Wyoming's awful puns since day one of the project and retaliated with no more than good-natured sarcasm.

But some things, like firing on unarmed targets, like betraying the trust of those closest to one, like leaving good men and women to die, like running deadly, mind-breaking experiments on one's underlings - on one's own daughter - some things could invoke even York's ire. And no, York wasn't a man who could come up with slow, creative ways to make someone hurt, but he had a shotgun. He had his lockpicking skills. He had D and an old radio receiver in his helmet and more hope and stubbornness than Delta insisted was healthy, let alone logical. York's first instinct had been to run, but when the opportunity came up to put a small piece of things right, well, York wasn't against a small bit of payback. He'd killed traitors before. He'd killed (betrayed) those who had wronged humanity and those who stood by them. The important bit was to try to leave the world better for someone else's children, even if all that would be left to him were echoes with green eyes.


	7. Wipe Out

**(A/N) Hey all, time for another one-shot, this time from the fantastic FlygonNick, whose taken over Minnesota from XxXshadowkitsuXxX, and there's a little poolside action going on in the MoI.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Wipe Out**

**Agent Minnesota**

**Written by FlygonNick**

* * *

_"It is requisite for the relaxation of the mind that we make use, from time to time, of playful deeds and jokes." – _Thomas Aquinas

* * *

I sank into the water gingerly and after a moment, submerged myself completely, dunking my head beneath the water and shivering slightly as my body got used to the cold water. I adjusted to it after a minute or so and rose out of the water, exhaling the pent up breath I had. I felt myself unwinding, the pent up stress rolling off of me as the water eased my sore muscles from another hard training session.

"Hey Sota, you want a floatee? There's plenty over here!" Utah said as he began to blow up an inflatable animal of some kind; I wasn't sure what that was to be honest.

I felt myself smile a bit and said, "Maybe later. I'm feeling mellow today, you know?"

"You're _always_ mellow," Utah pointed out, looking slightly disappointed.

I felt a pang of guilt and said, "Alright, give me the blue one then."

"Sweet! Here's your dolphin!" Utah said with a wide grin, throwing a small inflatable dolphin my way. I grabbed it and admired it for a moment.

"Thanks."

Utah gave me a salute and then got to work trying to get South and North to take one of his inflatable animals as well. After a "maybe later" and a "not a snowball's chance in hell, rookie", Utah abandoned his efforts and dove into the pool near me. I placed my dolphin on the side of the pool deck and let myself float on my back in the water…

I had to admit, the pool was-

I was interrupted mid-thought by a wave of water splashing in my face, causing me to angrily wipe the water out of the black bangs and glare at the perpetrator, a certain Agent California.

"Cal, really? What are you, five years old-" I was cut off by another blast of water in my face, causing me to sputter and wipe the water out of my eyes.

"Maybe." Cal said deviously, diving under the water like a shark as I sent a blast of water at him. I scowled as Cal got out of the water a few moments later still grinning at me, and walked out with a towel. I grumbled under my breath and sank back into the water, closing my eyes again and enjoying the warm water…Unwinding-

Wait…warm water?

I shot up to the surface with a yell, shuddering slightly at the thought of-

I quickly slunk over to a colder side of the pool, ignoring the ashamed look Utah gave me as I passed by. After getting relaxed again, I regarded the others who had just entered. York naturally came in right behind Carolina, with the two of them climbing into beach chairs. Maine lumbered in not a minute later, looking moderately less happy than usual. The giant man clambered into the pool and sat down on the bottom of the floor at the shallow end so the water went up to his neck.

"Maine! I-" Utah began to say cheerfully as he swam over to the unfriendly giant.

"Not now," Maine growled, closing his eyes.

Utah frowned in reply. "Aw, come on. I was just going to say hi."

"…Hi Utah," Maine grumbled, after a moment.

"Yes! Hey Maine, how're you doing?" Utah said cheerfully to the large man.

"Hmph." Was all he got in reply. Utah continued to try and get Maine to talk to him, but that was like trying to squeeze water out of a lump of coal. _Unlikely to succeed_.

Carolina and York chatted quietly next to me, and I caught York saying "-this awesome beach back at New Alexandria. The next time we get shore leave, we've got to hit it."

"That's a nude beach, York," Carolina said, sounding amused to my amazement as I watched them talk.

York smiled and said, "So? What's stopping us-"

"Later," Carolina muttered, shooting me a dirty look. I rolled my eyes and sank back down into the water. I silently fumed at the fact that York was at least able to mull around with Carolina, if he could get her in a good enough mood. I wasn't much of a social butterfly or anything on this ship, so the chances of me getting with any of the women on this ship…well, it was pretty much not going to happen.

I sank deeper into the water and as the water rose to almost eye level, I saw Kent burst into the pool area and sprint towards the water, holding some sort of grey sphere.

"This isn't going to end well," I thought dryly as Kent neared the pool, a maniacal grin on his face.

"CANNONBALL MOTHERFUCKERS!" Kent yelled as he leapt high into the air and hurled the sphere into the water, sending a massive tidal wave of water crashing everywhere before falling into the pool himself. Jersey, who had been standing behind Kent and ducked into the hallway to avoid the wave of water, dropped her jaw in horror as she beheld the sight of destruction.

Utah was currently being carried in Maine's arms, terrified out of his mind, and was promptly dropped in the water by the angry giant. The Virginia sisters were utterly drenched along with the Dakotas. I was thrown clear out of the water and scowled at Kent from the pool deck, while Kent stood in the middle of the pool proudly. I saw Maine growl softly and sink silently into the water as Carolina threw one of Utah's floatees at Kent.

York adjusted his sunglasses and said, "Well…he sure knows how to make an entrance, I'll give him that."

"Boombringer in the house!" Kent yelled to his fellow Freelancers, who shot him dirty looks, while dodging Carolina's projectile.

"GRRRRRRRRR…"

It happened in slow motion…

Kent turned around as Maine rose out of the water like a massive great white shark, arms outstretched and a horrifying snarl on his face. Kent let out a shrill scream before Maine grabbed him by the throat and dunked him violently in the water. After holding the explosives expert for a few moments, Maine yanked Kent out of the water and threw him back onto the pool deck, hyperventilating and stammering frantically while Jersey shook her head in response. Maine wasn't done, as he climbed out of the pool and grabbed Kent by the arm, causing him to shriek.

"No! Please for the love of God no! I WANT TO LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE!" Kent howled as he tried pulling himself away from Maine, even going so far as to try and gnaw his arm off to avoid Maine's wrath.

"Diving board. Now." Maine growled, dragging Kent by the arm as he went limp on the ground, trying and failing to keep Maine from moving him.

"Aren't you going to stop him?" I heard York ask Carolina, who lowered her sunglasses slightly and gave York an amused look.

"Not a chance," Carolina said as Maine shoved Kent into the ladder and commanded him to climb. Kent _very_ reluctantly began his way up, with Maine close behind, and soon the two of them were at the top of the high dive, with Kent facing down a furious Maine.

"C-c-c-ome on big guy! We can t-talk this out, can't we?" Kent begged, getting on his knees as Maine towered above him.

"DO IT! DO IT! DO IT!" South, Virginia, West, York, Utah and I chanted as a downright terrifying smile appeared on Maine's face. Kent's eyes dilated in terror as Maine's hand shot forward and clamped down on his throat before lifting him into the air. Maine walked over to the edge of the board and after starring into the terrified eyes of Kentucky, raised him higher into the air by his throat and threw him as hard as he could down into the pool below.

"Chokeslam from hell!" West cheered, earning ten points for the wrestling reference.

"HOLY SHIT ON A FUCKING SANDWICH!" Kent screamed as he plummeted towards the water and slammed into it, sending a massive wave of water over everyone inside of the pool already and spraying North, South, and York on the pool deck. Carolina probably willed away the water from her with ego or something because she managed to avoid the water completely this time.

Maine stood atop the Diving Board, a small smile on his face as we all began to cheer for Maine from below. Without further ado, Maine climbed down from the diving board and returned to his spot next to Utah, who praised Maine for his "awesome choke slam."

"Man…remind me not to invite Maine to my summer party once this whole Freelancer thing is done with. He'd probably suplex anyone who made a funny comment about his shirt through the picnic table," York commented dryly as he popped open a beer and handed one to me and Utah, earning the smallest of smiles from Carolina and a chuckle from me. Kent floated to the top of water, unresponsive.

"Uh…is he alive?" West asked.

"Do you really care?" I replied, smiling slightly.

"Uh…Hey Kent, Jersey's on the high-dive!" West yelled suddenly.

Kent's eyes shot open under water as Kent flipped over, stood on his feet and yelled blindly to the high dive: "GO JOISEY! IT'S ALL YOU GIRL!"

"Kent…you're an ass." Jersey sighed as she pinched the bridge of her nose, blushing bright pink.

Kent turned around, confused and said, "Uh…"

"Grrrr…"

Kent suddenly screamed and scrambled out of the pool at the growl of Maine and sprinted out of the pool. Jersey sighed and walked out while Utah high-fived Maine, with the rest of us wondering if Kent would ever come to the pool again for fear of Maine.

In all honesty…_probably_ not.


	8. Déjà Vu

**(A/N) Hey guys, we're back with another one-shot for you all, written by the wonderful Minaethiel, for Agent Colorado. We'll have a few more of these coming over the next month or so, so keep your eyes out! A nice little short story here for you, and I've gotta say, I thought it was one of the cooler pieces that have been sent into me, and I think you'll all feel the same!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Déjà Vu**

**Agent Colorado**

**Written by Minaethiel**

* * *

"_Standing by wasn't an option. I knew full well what younger siblings were willing to do to impress their older family members, and I also knew that, being young, her older brother wasn't going to stop her. That left it all down to me to teach the pair of them exactly what they had to lose." _

– Extract taken from Agent Colorado's logs

* * *

Normally, shore leave was something I took great pleasure in. As long as I returned to the ship and made myself available for emergency departure, I was free to do whatever the fuck I wanted. Of course "whatever the fuck I wanted" usually ended up being clubbing and drinking, and not necessarily in that order. The only thing I really missed out on was actually getting dressed up to go clubbing. However if the Director or Counselor saw me return to the _Invention_ in a skintight red dress, I'd probably be out on the street in the same breath, or at the very least tossed down the board. For once, the former was really the worst possible option there as opposed to the latter.

So I roamed the streets of Eris mindlessly in sweats and my "Agent Colorado" t-shirt, wondering if this planet had anything but uptight "tough guy" bars. I really wasn't looking for anything other than a place to be able to let loose, and though I knew of no civvy that could take me in a fight – or any other soldiers besides those in Freelancer – I really wasn't looking for a brawl. It was the middle of the day on Eris, and military personnel that were off roamed the streets lazily. From what snatches of conversation I could hear, most of the men and women I passed by were either civvies, or were bitching about PT and all manner of other things.

If they thought PT was tough at that moment, they'd never survive Project Freelancer. Once again I could feel a sense of pride and superiority flow through me. Now if only everyone else in the project could be as proud about their statuses.

"Shannon, you're not cool enough to hang out with us…"

The voice caught my attention, and I stopped, looking across the street to the yard where it had come from.

He was maybe thirteen years old and had sandy brown hair, a passive expression on his tanned face. In front of him, with tears streaked down her face, was obviously who I presumed to be Shannon. In contrast to her brother – at least, I assumed it was her brother – Shannon was small and had her blond hair in a messy ponytail.

"I am cool!" she shouted back in seven-year-old fury. "I can prove it too!"

In the yard there was a large tree, with branches that threatened to claw the clouds. The lower ones seemed easy to climb, but that was just it. When trying to get a younger sibling away, nothing was good enough no matter how good they were, and damn if we didn't let them know. A thunderbolt of déjà vu struck me as the little girl began to ascend.

* * *

_We'd had a tree just as tall where I grew up. On of the branches that stuck out far to the side, and to that one we had made a pair of swings, just for Blake and I to use when we were kids. I was just turning fifteen at this point, and I was full of attitude. My younger sibling was no longer cool to be around, and I acted accordingly._

_"Serena, why can't I come with you? I want to play…"_

_"Because you're not cool enough, Blake," I'd responded, thoroughly irritated with my baby brother following me around. He wasn't such a baby at nine years old, but that didn't stop him from acting like one sometimes, such as this occasion. It seemed like he was on the verge of a tantrum, which only served to fuel my irritation more._

_"I am so cool enough to hang out with you! I'll prove it!"_

_I had been about to go to the houses of one of my few friends, and the tree was directly to my left. Blake used it as his own proving grounds. I didn't notice he was climbing until I heard the scraping of shoes on bark. When I looked up, he had to be at least a quarter of a way up the tree, which was a good twenty feet off of the ground._

_"Mom and Dad are going to kill you for climbing up there, Blake!" I shouted up to him, now pissed off that he was delaying me because of this stupid stunt. "And this doesn't make you any cooler!"_

_It was my own mistake to push him like that._

_"Then I'll go even higher!"_

_He'd barely gone up five more feet before a foothold broke. He'd tumbled down at least eight feet, screaming in fear, until he somehow caught himself on another branch. Thankfully, my dad had come out and retrieved him before he could fall anymore. Blake ended up with a few nasty scrapes and bruises, but nothing broken._

* * *

Looking back on it now, I could have lost him that day. I didn't, but at the time the thought had never crossed my mind. When I did finally lose him, I had regretted not spending one more minute on the phone with him or taking back one more fight every single day. I didn't have that chance now, but these two did.

I bolted across the street as the girl was about ten feet off the ground, and swung myself up into the tree with ease, the rough bark scraping on my hands at the speed I was climbing, but it was paltry compared to a bullet. Finally, I reached Shannon, who was staring at me with wide owl eyes.

"Who - who're you?"

"It's ok," I said as soothingly as I could manage. "I'm here to help you out. You know you're pretty high up. You could get hurt if you fall. Can you come down?"

"Don' wanna come down. I want to be cool!"

"Guess what? I knew someone who wanted to be cool too, and he did the exact same thing you did, only he fell. I'm sure your… brother thinks you're plenty cool without doing this. Do you want to get in trouble with mom and dad?"

The magic words! No kid wanted to get busted by Mom and Dad, which was obvious as her face grew horrified.

"You can't tell on me!"

And yup, that was always the most important thing too; not the fact that she was eight feet off the ground in a precarious position. Kids.

"I won't tell," I promised, getting only slightly impatient. "I'll even help you down. Come on over here and put your arms around my neck."

She obliged, albeit very cautiously now that she had realized how high we were. It wasn't that and for me, but for a kid her size, it seemed monumental. Within seconds, we were on the ground. Setting her down next to her brother, I squatted down to get closer to eye level, though the brother was still taller. Damned short height.

"Now that wasn't very smart climbing up the tree," I said as patiently as possible. "Kids your age shouldn't go going to high without a parent helping you out. Now why were climbing?"

She was almost crying again, though hell if I knew why. We really hadn't been so high.

"He said I'm not cool 'nough to play wiff him. I just wanna play."

I shot my look to the boy, who was looking embarrassed at the thought of a stranger helping his younger sibling out, as well as the fact that a lecture was probably coming on. And man was he right.

"Not cool enough, huh? And I bet no matter how high she went it wouldn't have mattered."

He started at that, indignant.

"That's not true!"

"I think it is, because I know exactly what it's like to want to discourage the younger sibling from hanging out with me. And my little brother tried the same thing Shannon did, only he ended up getting hurt, and barely managed to avoid worse."

That seemed to shut him up, and I took it as an invitation to continue.

"Look, no matter how angry or annoyed you are with your sibling, don't ever tell them they aren't good enough or cool enough. Deep down you can't imagine life without them, and you never know when they might get taken away. Treasure every single day you have together."

I stood up and crossed the street again, making a great show of looking both ways before crossing. At least one lesson had to get through to them after all, no matter how small it was to them.


	9. Alone

**(A/N) Hey all, time for a new little one-shot for Interphase from Minaethiel, with more to come over the next few weeks! Have headed back to college, but thankfully I don't have too many hours this term, so it shouldn't affect my ability to get these updates up, or so I hope!**

**Also, for anyone who's not aware, we're currently looking for people interested in writing Connecticut for our Project Freelancer Saga, so if you're interested head on over to our forum - The Freelancer Collaboration - and fill out an application!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Alone**

**Agent Colorado**

**Written by Minaethiel**

* * *

_"When you're surrounded by all these people, it can be lonelier than when you're by yourself. You can be in a huge crowd, but if you don't feel like you can trust anyone or talk to anybody, you feel like you're really alone."_

– Fiona Apple

* * *

Sometimes, I missed the luxury of having friends.

It was especially apparent on days when the rain never seemed to end, and the sun never appeared to shine. Unfortunately, I was having one of those days.

Staring at my book of writings, I sighed and tried to muster up any kind of feeling or desire to expand the book, but nothing came to me. Defeated, I dropped it beside me once again, the action hitting me harder than it should have. One of the few talents I possessed outside of being a soldier, and I couldn't even manage to do that. I felt a sudden urge to punch something, but restrained myself from doing more than curling a fist.

I knew very well what was going on, and I hated it. I hated myself for letting such petty feelings of weakness dig their way into my mind too. It wasn't the end of the world if I couldn't write today. There was always tomorrow… always another day.

_And maybe that's the problem._

The thought slipped out before I could contain it, and a new self-loathing took over. I hated it when my thoughts went there. There was always a good reason to see another day. Sometimes it was just hard to find one. Nowadays, I was noticing, it was becoming increasingly hard to find a good reason to keep going on. I was good at keeping myself separated from everyone else, but on days like those, I longed for someone to just sit me down and ask me one question. "_Are you ok?"_

Maybe I'd finally have the courage to admit that I needed help. A way to drop everything that ate away at whatever will I managed to scrounge up day after day. They had pills to make everything better, sure, but the last thing I wanted was a psych evaluation.

With pills an option I could only long for, the next best thing was talking, and really, I hadn't endeared myself to anyone. That had been the whole point. Push everyone away so you wouldn't get hurt. But it was more and more apparent that I was hurting myself more than helping. On this ship… all of the people… I was still alone. No matter how inclusive they'd be out of charity, I would never be without loneliness.

"Hey, are you ok?"

The voice startled me from my thoughts, and I looked up to see North staring down at me in concern. I didn't know what was written on my face, but whatever North had seen caused him to take a seat next to me, tilting his head slightly.

I haven't been fine for weeks. I'm just waiting for the bullet to end all of this emptiness and hopelessness. There's just too much for me to deal with and it's all crushing me.

"I'm fine, North, you don't need to worry about me. I'm sure there's other people you should be more concerned about."

_Not today, 'Rado. Not today._


	10. Fade Out

**(Kymeara's Note) Hey guys of the Collaboration fandom, Kymeara here. As a future applicant for the Collaboration, I was advised to write a one-shot. With advice and guidance from TunelessLyric herself, I created this. I hope you enjoy, and without further ado, a small intro from Tuneless. Kymeara out!**

* * *

**(Tuneless' Note) Hey, it's Tuney here and I am very proud to announce this Interphase piece. You know why I'm so pleased? Because Kymeara did a fan-freaking-tastic job with Michigan! I'll admit that I was a little leery when Kymeara came to me with it, but I was absolutely blown away when I'd read this. I strongly recommend keeping an eye out for his other work. Hope you enjoy it as much as I did!**

* * *

**Fade Out**

**Agent Michigan**

**Written by Kymeara**

* * *

_"Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It's the transition that's troublesome."_

_\- _Issac Asimov

* * *

Time slowed down for Mich as she slowly fell to her front. Flashbacks and premonitions flashed before her eyes, thinking of things that had been and what could've been:

She thought of when she was on the very first Pelican ride, when the pilot and Cal had been making some of the most sexist remarks she had heard. That moment then was the only time that she, and probably anyone from the project, had agreed with South.

Then there were all the times where she slowly got more and more annoyed at Cal about his, simply put, terrible jokes. Wyoming's knock-knock jokes she could just about handle, as the near-comical accent made them work. This memory ended in her yelling at Cal before walking off.

The next stream of memories was a blur, between normal missions and simulations with the Reds and Blues. How she was oddly going to miss them, the near-lovable little idiots who thought they were actually fighting a real war.

Then there was what could have been her funniest moment during the project. She'd been there for a while, and she had noticed she had become more humorous. She had lost her shower cap somewhere. She had scoured the female locker room, but found nothing. So, wrapping a towel around herself, she went off into the boy's room. Walking in, she saw Cal, Sota and Georgia sitting and talking. They all looked up as she called to them about her shower cap. Mich looked on in amusement as the three boys blushed and tried to talk, but they kept stuttering and falling over their words. Mich managed to suppress a giggle as Sota finally managed to form a no.

But as she was walking out, she felt a slight tug and felt the towel drop. She looked round, first to see the towel on the floor with its corner stuck on the corner of a bench, and then she looked around to the now furiously blushing boys. A single thought developed in her head at that moment - fuck it, she was going to own this!

Mich turned around and noting all the boys now staring at her nude figure, she called out to them, "Better get a good look, because the next one won't be for a while."

The memory changed again, this time to the moment where Cal had dragged her through the entire ship, half the journey being with a makeshift blindfold around her head. She had then seen Cal's favourite spot, a place with a full view out to space. It been there where they had shared their backgrounds, albeit Cal a little untruthfully. They had gotten closer, and kissed for the first time. It had been Mich's favourite day in the Project.

But then, the memories stopped. They instead changed back to the little fantasies that Mich had been having whilst lying in bed. The thought of the day that the Human-Covenant war ended, when the Agents handed in their armour, and they were given various medals and recognitions for their contribution. Both the Freelancers and the Spartans were stood, side-by-side, as a flag of unity between the humans and the various races of the Covenant was raised on a neutral planet.

It changed again, to a scene of her in a lavender wedding dress, walking up the aisle with her father at her side, giving her away. Cal was stood up at the altar, his immaculate black suit hiding clothing of red and white. York, Sota, North and Georgia stood next to Cal, also in suits. Her dad let her arm go as she drew level with Cal, Mich being aware of Massa and Virginia standing behind her. The rest of the Freelancers, even South and Maine were sat in the crowd, applauding when the rings were added, and when the kiss was made that sealed the couple's fate.

It then came to the final dream she knew she had. Mich was sat on a bench in a small garden, nursing the small bump forming on her stomach, and smile cracking on her face as she watched down the garden. Down there were two little children, one boy of seven and a girl of five. Cody and Melissa Steele. It was then that Cal – no, not Cal anymore – Jason walked out of the small house they owned on Byzantium. He came up and cuddled her from behind, and Hannah melted backwards into the hug, her life perfect once more.

The kids had taken on her last name because she didn't know Cal's last name. She would never know his last name either. Ark had taken his shot, and now Mich would never know the life of bliss she once knew, she once hoped she could share with Cal.

It was odd how every memory; every image of her future had featured Cal. In the end, it was always Cal, even when she didn't realise it. She had spent the last of her life with him, and that was enough. It didn't show on her face, but Mich was smiling as she died.


	11. Smoking Gun

**(A/N) We're back with another blast from the past with Interphase, as Mina shows us just what Alaska was up to between the end of Phase One and the reinstatement of Project Freelancer. **

* * *

**Smoking Gun**

**Agent Alaska**

**Written by Minaethiel**

* * *

"_Because no retreat from the world can mask what is in your face."_

– Gregory Maguire

* * *

Project Freelancer was out of commission.

After Penn and Ark's betrayals, the project had been shut down, and everyone close to the two rogue agents questioned. Alaska had gone through interrogations from both sides of the table dozens of times. However the questioning from the UNSC agents had been the first time he had felt truly numb. He had seen war in its entirety, and yet it was the death of one woman and who her killer was all that it took to affect him more deeply than he thought possible.

After he had been questioned and cleared, the former agent departed. Alaska had nothing he wanted or needed to say to any of the other agents. It was too soon to talk about what had happened. Everyone had to process their grief in whatever way they saw fit. While they hid away, Alaska resolved to do something himself now that he was off the leash.

And so that led to his current situation. He'd left the planet the _Invention_ had been ordered to dock at as soon as he could, prepared to follow up on personal goals, and maybe hunt down Ark and Penn himself. What he had not expected was to have the two former Freelancers mobilize a force so soon, though with Harper alongside them maybe he shouldn't have been surprised. As it was, he only knew to whom the troops outside his desired location belonged because they wouldn't shut up.

"I hear we're going to be receiving new orders soon. Moving on to something bigger than data centers. I'm not sure what this Arkansas guy is up to, but the lieutenant went along with him, so I suppose that'll have to be good enough."

Alaska had narrowed his eyes, his finger tightening ever so slightly around the grip of his magnum. He hadn't been expecting to run into anybody except UNSC. While blatantly breaking the law didn't bother him, he did have qualms about using lethal force to access classified data. And with Moi, she had to have been buried deep, wherever the information on her was. So with the oblivious rebel troops in front of his objective, Alaska felt an almost primal sense of glee that he could vent his frustrations on them without the complications of true retaliation. After all, what use was there in turning all resources towards hunting down one man?

Taking stock of what he had, Alaska felt his mouth twitch downwards. Used to the bountiful amount of supplies in Freelancer, he'd had to get by with supplies and armour he'd swiped from his previous destinations. Most UNSC centres had armouries included. He'd take what he needed from inside the bases, and then subsequently ditch any armour at the next base and replace it. This was a sloppy way to refresh equipment, but a necessary one. It wasn't like the UNSC was hopping to do him any favours.

In the end, he decided his current supply – a magnum and an assault rifle with two extra clips each – and two grenades would have to do. Then again, from the lack of patrols roaming the perimeter, Alaska concluded that only a token force remained of the original group to hit the base. Probably a final mop up crew to cover their tracks.

_Good,_ he thought to himself. _I could use a workout._

But then, he was assuming the soldiers in front of him would provide at least half of a challenge.

Alaska moved like a wraith toward the soldiers. Taking the magnum off of his thigh, he gauged the distance at the edge of the tree line and then opened fire. Two shots and two smoking holes in their heads dropped a pair of them. The third and fourth men whipped towards their fallen comrades in surprise. Both men were carrying brand new battle rifles, but neither of them were fast enough to react as Alaska came barreling towards the door with a promise of death on his face. His knife was already flying by the time the two remaining soldiers raised their rifles, and by the time the trigger was pulled, only one was left firing. Ducking under the first burst, grass ripping from under his legs and staining the armour, Alaska fired his magnum one more time, dropping the last soldier. He didn't need to really approach the war's newest casualties to hear their radios squawking. Clearly the exchange hadn't gone unheard.

Picking up a radio, he stared at it with cold blue eyes. Should he give them a chance to surrender peacefully? No. Some people didn't deserve that chance. The ones that deserved the chance usually never got to have one. Still, it wouldn't hurt to keep the radio on him to hear the enemy's plans.

Looping the device to his belt, he turned the volume down to an acceptable level before moving to the side of the door and opening it with a hand. No shots immediately greeted him, but by the sounds of it, more troops were on the way to check out the situation. Almost on reflex he went to touch the button on his helmet to activate his enhancement before remembering that he no longer had it. While the enhancement would have been a nice bonus, Alaska was content to know that it wasn't required for success.

Swiftly moving into the entrance hall with his assault rifle up and ready, Alaska made sure to sweep the area slowly. Two different doors split off on either side of the room, but he suspected that the door behind what was the security checkpoint was the one he wanted. However, he had to first clear the rest of the facility. It wouldn't do to have interruptions while he went through all of the data.

The entire "operation" took less than twenty minutes. As Alaska had expected, only a token force had been left behind, and now it was just one last woman standing. At first he hadn't wanted to leave anyone alive. Of course then he had realized the important fact that the best way to deliver a message was for someone else to do so. Words spoke louder than actions on occasions.

"Now, you know what you're going to tell them when you're retrieved?" Alaska inquired, staring his prisoner down confidently. It had taken only five minutes to sway the rebel in front of him to deliver a message to Penn and Ark. Of course it usually helped when the delivery girl in question valued life more than death over such a small thing.

"I'm going to tell them that Agent Alaska isn't going to let their betrayal go. That the fight is far from over."

"Good," he said simply. "You can go now and call for that evac. And I sincerely hope you don't come back when your men get here. It won't end as well for you next time."

Her gun had quickly been taken, so she could only scowl darkly at the former agent before turning around and exiting the room. Alaska watched her go and only rotated his attention to the computers around him when he was positive she wasn't coming back for an ambush. Once his focus shifted, however, she probably could have stormed the room with another squad and he wouldn't notice. There was nothing on his mind as he sifted through the digital files other than Moi.

Eventually, however, he had to admit defeat. He wasn't as technically savvy as Ark had been, and some files were either too encrypted for him to get to or the base didn't have a high enough clearance level to view more. Either way, there was no information on Moi. His failures to find her were becoming an all too common expectation.

Feeling a sudden surge of anger, he slammed his fist onto the desk, ignoring the throbbing that came with it. _Damn it! What am I going to have to do to find her? Why couldn't she have left something to help me?_ He was desperate to find out who she was and what her purpose had been on the _Mother of Invention_. More importantly, he wanted to know why her death had been staged. At least, he hoped it had been staged. All he had was her necklace as proof that she had at least been real.

Shutting down the console, Alaska sighed and checked the new gear he had acquired. On to the next base. Maybe by some miracle there would be information in his next break-in target. The sudden ringing of his phone had him almost spin towards the door expecting an attack, but then he chuckled and shook his head, picking the device up. Maybe one of his old friends had found a lead for him.

"This is Darren."

"Agent Alaska."

Of all the people who he thought would contact him, Director Church was not very high on the list of probability.

"My my. I will admit I'm surprised to hear from you, Director. How did you find me?"

"With the Project's resources, it was simple to track down your whereabouts. Even simpler to follow your crime spree. The real question is why you've been interrupting UNSC operations."

At the mention of the 'project's resources,' Alaska had felt a reluctant hope speed his pulse. If the project could hunt him down even in such an obscure location, then it was his best chance at finding Moi. He'd given up on having reliable sources when it had been shut down. However he was not about to tell the Director about his search. He'd been the one to convince him she hadn't been real, and threatened his status as a Freelancer to do so. If he brought her up now, there would be no question that the Director wouldn't take him back, and that would kill his search almost entirely.

"Searching for our rogue friends, actually. I don't suppose you can help me with that?"

"Actually I can," the Director replied almost smugly. "I'd like to offer you your spot back in Project Freelancer, Agent."

And there it was. His golden ticket back to the project, and the best chance he had at finding Moi.

"I hope you have my armour waiting for me," he confirmed. "I'd like it back when I return to the ship."

"All of your previous amenities are just as they were before we were interrupted. Before you return to the ship, I'll need you to go pick up another agent."

"Done," he agreed almost instantly. "Just send me whatever is required and you'll have your recruit."

This was it. With the project finally back in business, he'd have the equipment necessary to continue his hunt. And on top of that, they were going to hunt down Penn and Ark. No doubt his message would get through as well. Before he'd been allowing his rage at Massa's death to lead his comments. Now…now he would be able to back them up.

_It's only a matter of time before I succeed now._


	12. Shed Limits

**(A/N) - Warg here; after seeing how the Freelancers remember the people from their pasts, Interphase offers a chance to see how the people from their pasts remember the Freelancers... Thanks to Guthans for the review on the last chapter; for the continuation of Al's adventures between the Phases, see Colorado's first chapter of Phase Two.**

* * *

**Shed Limits**

**Written by WargishBoromirFan**

**Ezekiel Jenkins**

* * *

_"Yeah, I'm black, but honestly, I never really considered myself African-American, just a Kentucky boy, if you want to get specific. I've got no ties to Africa that the rest of the human race lacks and we've been there near as long as there's been an America. The family history, with a good deal of extrapolation, goes back to the 1860s. The reason we don't know much of what was going on before that was that the inventory records predating that time were burned. Along with the rest of the plantation. So I guess you could say that my family's always liked fire, Shermans, and other instruments of mass destruction, whether we were technically sanctioned to use 'em or not. Grandpa Jacobs tried to find out more, but I take it as a sign that we're supposed to focus on the forward. I just carry on a proud tradition of not looking back at my past unless it tries to bite me, and then applying the tools I've gotten from it to fight back." _

\- Agent Georgia

* * *

If the boy had set the butt of the rifle on the ground, the tip of its barrel would extend over his head. It might have made it easier to bring it to the shed as a walking stick, even loaded, but his mother and grandfather's warnings haunted him all too loudly, echoing off each other on a thousand different topics as he fumbled with his unbalanced load.

"Zeke? Watcha doin'?" The nine-year-old sighed heavily at the sound of his younger brother, tipping the barrel into the dirt.

"Go away, small fry. Aren't you supposed to be with Abe or Momma right now, anyway?" The younger brother shook his head, watching him with large brown eyes and quivering in place. If Zeke waited long enough, his little brother would doubtlessly get bored and leave him be, but the toddler had a fascination beyond his years with the tractor shed and everything it contained. Forbidding him from the place after he'd somehow managed to wrangle the blasted vehicle out of park and into a wall had only increased his desire to revisit it, and it would figure that as little patience as a four-year-old would have with anything else, he'd zero in on that tractor in its shed. It was the last place he'd known their Papa was going.

Zeke had gotten focused on it, too, but with a different goal in mind. It'd been the last thing his Papa had meant to go fix, after all. Zeke meant to fix it right. "All right, fine," he said, shifting the gun upwards, away from his younger brother. It was too long to fit nicely over his shoulder, and the weight made his stance awkward. "But you gotta stay out here and be my lookout. We don't want Momma or Grandpa or Abe to have to hear about this."

"Watcha doing?" the younger boy repeated more emphatically. Those were some of his favourite words, alongside "why?" "how?" "what's that?" and "me, too?" Their youngest brother was beginning to speak and seemed very fond of the word "no," as Abe and their mother said Zeke had been at that age, but "no" didn't seem to enter the third-born's vocabulary. He was generally perfectly tractable... as long as you didn't mind answering a million questions and fending him off with a stick to keep him from trying to do everything that caught his fancy the moment when your back was turned.

There were some questions that Zeke really didn't want to hear, much less answer. "You know what happens if a sow hurts her litter or a boar gets too mean?"

"We're not s'posed to play with the big pigs." Another thing he'd had to learn the hard way. Usually, the hogs were shipped out for slaughter, but their grandfather would rather lose a pig than a grandson. It was easier to breed more of one than the other, and their Momma could use a hog butchered at the farm if they had to.

"The tractor got too mean." Zeke shrugged the rifle upwards suggestively. It had broken. He didn't know how, he didn't know why, and he frankly didn't care all that much. This wouldn't truly fix anything, not really, but if they couldn't fix the tractor and Grandpa had to sell his farm they could move someplace safe and civilized like Owenton or Georgetown or maybe all the way to Lexington or Cincinnati and he'd never have to look at another tractor or shed or pig again, unless it'd already been cooked.

Zeke didn't know why his father had wanted to move the family out to the farm in the first place - sure, Grandpa had needed help and Momma wasn't going to abandon her father, but it shouldn't have come at the cost of his. Papa had thrown himself at farm living with cyclonic enthusiasm, insisting that it'd be good for the boys, fresh air and physical activity and animal husbandry and plenty of room to grow, but Zeke was quickly beginning to look back at that cramped apartment they'd lived in before his younger brothers had come along with halcyon nostalgia.

But said little brothers wouldn't understand, having been born on this farm. They were sort of annoying like that.

They wouldn't remember Papa like he and Abe would, just that he went away one day when the loud car drove up to the farm with lights whirring and paramedics floating the stretcher out between them from the back and then it had left really quietly, much slower than it'd come, and he hadn't come back.

So it was up to Zeke to take care of the tractor. Abe was busy taking care of Momma and Grandpa.

"But I like it," his four-year-old brother pouted, as Zeke expected he would. "Can we get a new one? A big one?" Maybe it was a sign of intelligence that the little kid talked so much, and a mark of his mental steadiness that bounced back quickly, but Zeke wished the oblivious little snot-nosed runt would shut up.

"Only if you stay outside and stay quiet." There should be no witnesses. Grandpa didn't need them, and even something so lifeless and and unfeeling as the tractor ought to go out with the same gravity that Grandpa gave an unruly pig. Its sin had been greater, after all.

The little one nodded solemnly, but Zeke didn't trust him. "I mean it. You stay out here. No peeking."

"Will it bounce?" Few four-year-olds had any sort of grasp on rebound trajectories, but trust his kid brother to have thrown enough metal at metal to think about what he hadn't even considered.

"Maybe," Zeke grunted, shrugging the rifle back into a slightly less uncomfortable position. "It's none of your business." He fumbled one-handed with his liberated key to the two-month-old lock, and walked in and shut the door behind him, leaning against the replaced shed door to keep out followers.

Facing the tractor itself was at once a heart-pumping thrill and a supreme letdown. The gun was too long and heavy to aim straight and steady at that dull, broken grille, his leg bumping up against the door as he attempted proper stance like his momma had shown him, his hands pulled as close to his chest as he could manage with the oversize stock butting into his shoulder before he was able to get the barrel level. He'd only get off one shot before someone heard or his "lookout" got bored and jealous and ran off to tell their mother. He'd have to make it count. The grille was cracked, but would it absorb the round or just spit the shell right back at him? A headlight seemed too petty and too hard to aim for. The wheel then. The front left.

Tensing his shoulders in anticipation of the kickback, Zeke lined up the sights as evenly as he could and squeezed the trigger. He'd fired guns with Momma and Grandpa and Abe, but always something smaller, something lighter with a little less recoil. For its size, the rifle wasn't so bad, not like the shotgun that had knocked Abe in the nose when he tried to get fancy, but the weight was unsteady enough when he wasn't taking the recoil directly to the shoulder. The bullet flew at the tractor, and he flew to his back, bouncing off the door before sliding down to the dirt. The gun landed atop him, driving the air from lungs and tire equally. Those treads had been built to take a lot of abuse, and Zeke's diaphragm, despite the fights he'd survived with his brothers, had not been built against a sudden collapse under pressure.

Once he could inhale again, Zeke shoved the gun off of his chest and picked himself up to his elbows. His head seemed to weigh as much as the rifle as he studied the slowly deflating tire, still more or less in shape thanks to its deep treads and thick lining.

It wasn't enough. There wasn't any sort of stand attached to the muzzle to set it up as a tripod and fire off quickly, but Zeke yanked the gun into the closest he could bring it to position, turning over and squaring his torso so that he could fire off another round from flat on his belly, then another, then another, reveling in the kick that forced his legs back against the wall. He knew they were coming, that Momma would just shake her head, take the weapon away from him, and ask him why, even if that wasn't a question he felt up to answering at the moment. Not until the rounds ran out, at least, and a rifle magazine could hold more than the shotgun. Maybe, and he wasn't really counting on it, but maybe, he'd be able to say something about the reasons he'd snuck out here with a gun and key that he wasn't supposed to touch unsupervised once he had results to show from them. Even if those results included rebound. He turned the gun from the wheel, laying down an uneven line of suppressive noise as he worked the hefty warm barrel from one side of the tractor to the other. Zeke was surprised not so much by the sound of his little brother pounding at the door, whining to get a turn, as by the fact that he could hear the kid over the empty click of the rifle.

Zeke checked the chamber, like Momma had taught him, but it wasn't jammed. There were no bullets left.

He was shaky enough to use the rifle as a crutch back to his feet, once he'd put on the safety, then allowed the gun more of a controlled fall into the dirt rather than set it down. "Zeke! Momma's here! My turn now!" He set his back against the door, waiting for it to open into him.

It wasn't that Zeke was trying to hide the evidence from his mother, a hard enough task when he wasn't standing right before the wreckage with the smoking gun at his feet. But Zeke needed something against his back if he wasn't going to lose what was left of his own balance, and the door was the only thing within range that was whole enough to hold him upright. The extra minutes before he caught sight of her expression weren't an all bad thing, either.

Evie Jacobs-Jenkins had always been a practical woman. She had a soft spot for men with big dreams for the future, but she'd always believed the best way to reach that bright future was to take the tools she had to hand - whether those were the trowel and the post-holer, calculus and physics, or patience and the wisdom of when to be silent. She was silent for a long time before her son opened the door.

Jenkins men, Ezekiel would reflect as an adult, had a dangerous urge to build, to fix, to improve, dangerous because he doubted his father or any of his brothers had any concept of scale or their own limits.

Abe still ran the farm, though their mama had never officially retired, perhaps because she still feared her eldest would come to trouble without someone to remind him of what he couldn't manage by himself, too. Abraham still took on his brothers' and mother's burdens unasked, after all, even when Zeke wished Abe wouldn't always be so reliable, so self-effacing, such a humbly steady rock with no ambitions of his own that he made his younger brothers' successes look like selfish arrogance. Ezekiel had to comfort Abe, sometimes, too, and it would be easier if his attempts didn't stink of hypocrisy in the wake of the latest reason he'd had to return to the farm since the second-born had been old enough to escape.

Gene, too, had followed his middle brothers to college, so far avoiding the mountain of debt that had plagued Zeke's early career and the Navy job that had paid for both the younger boys' educations, but Eugene was yet too young and naive to assume he could fix anything less than the entire galaxy, and had not yet declared if he was planning to start with the physical, the mental, the social, or the political methods of solving universal ills. He'd gotten an undergrad in some philosophy major, decided the work wasn't hands-on enough, and was currently wrapping up the missing hours for some sort of chemistry-law degree with a double minor whose specifics changed every quarter.

Zeke limited himself to trying to improve the structural layout of his adopted city of Cleveland, building a strong marriage with his brilliant, practical wife Asha, and fixing the wonky handle on the bathroom door when it stopped clicking back into place. He'd given up on trying to fix the rest of his family.

And Phin... Well, Phineas was the reason Ezekiel had returned. It was hardly a surprise, really.

If any of the boys had taken after their father... Momma always said that Zeke looked the most like him, but Phin had their Papa's enthusiasm. He might have had Momma's intelligence, but that didn't help when the third-born had the same lack of self-preservation as their father. Phin had gone to the navy to avoid Zeke's student loans, just as he'd joined the football team despite not being built for it, just like he'd gotten into fights with his older brothers just because he'd wanted their attention. Phin could be an annoying little shit and Ezekiel was half-convinced that his younger brother's masochistic streak was five miles wide, but surely he was too smart to do this.

Phineas had turned his skill-set to supplying an ODST group, the last Zeke had heard before his younger brother dropped off the radar for the last time. He'd gotten hired by some black-ops hush-hush paramilitary group, but Zeke wanted to believe it had been for the same job as he'd done for the Helljumpers. He wanted to believe it, but this was Phineas. If he'd been given a chance to join the front lines despite being five-ten with the reflexes of a drunken squirrel and the spatial awareness of a dog with its head caught in a paper bag, Phin would writhe and wriggle until he could prove that his dexterity and intelligence more than made up for his lack of physical strength. Or die trying.

Everyone who'd met Phineas Jenkins had called him brilliant. Everyone who knew him well called him an idiot.

Under the circumstances, as Zeke helped Abe and Gene load the discretely-packaged boxes of personal items stamped with a three-pronged unit symbol and the unfamiliar name "Agent Georgia" into the old shed at the back of the farm, Asha trying to keep their mother occupied in the kitchen, he was very tempted to go with the latter. This time he couldn't even grab up a rifle to push his limits. Abe and Gene might grab some clays later, celebrate what they could with three out of four sons returning home for a rest, but Ezekiel saw no point in trying to shoot the sky.


	13. Wolves of the Mind

**(A/N) - A comparatively short bit from our awesome Fly for you here, setting the stage for the next step for him as the fourth wave of agents get settled in... Look for a follow-up next time on Phase Two.**

* * *

**Wolves of the Mind**

**Agent Minnesota**

**Written by FlygonNick**

* * *

"_Sometimes you have to confront your demons and sometimes even let them loose to genuinely find a place where you can gain some understanding."_-Peter Mullan.

* * *

"Well, getting that soldier to leave his post was easier than I thought it'd be," I remarked quietly as I slipped into the Danger Room, slowly walking into it after a few moments. After a quick check, I had seen that the room was all set and ready to go, more or less. I had seen enough of the Danger Room in action to get it to do what I wanted, and the thought of having this place to myself made me oddly excited. I crept into the shadowy room with a small smile on my face, something I hadn't done in some time.

I owed it to the recent events and my lack of faith in my teammates. Granted, I was trying to reach out to people somewhat, but at this point... it was something I wasn't sure I could actually do. York's words followed me no matter where I went, but try as I might... I couldn't act on them. It wasn't the same as it was before…

Back when I joined Freelancer, things were easier. Cal had broken through to me and after that, Mich was easy enough to get close to. They were...different than the others. They _understood_ me, and because of them, I had almost begun to believe that everyone else could be trusted... and then Ark and Penn betrayed us and ripped that small faith away from me.

And now... I was alone.

With that sobering thought, I let out a growl of annoyance and said aloud, "If I get into this mindset, this room will fuck with me like it did Maine. I've got to stay in control here."

I wouldn't be made a fool of like he was, though. I knew what my demons are and how to deal with them. I slowly made my way through the darkness, wondering how to begin my "training session."

"Alright...Let's see how well this thing-" I began to say, already picturing a place in my mind. The world then warped and shifted around me, before I found myself staring starry-eyed at a massive stretch of white sand, a gorgeous white beach, while the endless blue ocean stretched out in the distance.

"Impressive... Very impressive…" I murmured as I began to walk along the beach, smiling at the memories, even as they began to take form in the room itself.

Four people appeared in flashes of sand in front of me, willed into existence by my memories. Two adults and two children, all of whom earned different reactions within me as I gazed upon them. Myself, my little sister Abby, my father, and my mother. Amusement, affection, resentment, and... something that may have been hate, respectively. This was a memory from when I was eleven, when we all went on vacation together to the beach for the summer... one of my happiest memories, I realized.

The two adults told the children to have fun in the water for a bit while they sat down in beach chairs, and I watched them for a time as my memories began to craft out a scene in front of me. My younger self grabbed my child sister's hand and led her to the water's edge, but Abby wrenched her hand out of my younger double's grasp and gave him a light shove, pushing him into the water.

"Agh! It's cold, Abby!" the child version of me yelped as Abby burst into giggles. I smiled as the childish illusion of me got out of the water, laughing as well, before he splashed his sister lightly. It wasn't long before the brother and sister began having a splash fight, and I closed my eyes for a moment to reflect.

This was a simpler time. A happier time. When war was nothing to me and we were a family...

"Never thought I'd get homesick, but...I guess it gets to everyone now and then," I said quietly to myself, leaning against a wooden sign stuck in the sand and staring at the ocean, feeling a sense of calm wash over me. For a time, things were pleasant. Hearing the sound of the waves crashing, the sun shining down overhead...I heard my parents laughing with each other, stirring up a strange emotion within me. A sense of longing…

A longing of what could have been. What me and my sister had wished could have remained. But life has a way of slapping you in the face, and making you realize that it's not fair in the least fucking bit.

And then I remembered why I was here. I sighed deeply and then clenched my fists, willing the world of peace and tranquility away. I was here for a reason... and this wasn't it.

"Mich...Massa…Georgia...Cal..." I muttered, feeling the calm in my body shatter into a thousand pieces. A small flame ignited in its place. A flame of pain and hate and a need for revenge. Loathing and despair and a desire to make them pay for what they did to me...and them.

The beach, where my parents had taught me and my sister how to swim and where we spent many happy summers at vanished before my eyes, and was replaced in the darkness a moment later by a fiery city in ruins. Gunfire erupted all around me, with Crimson Sun streaming out of the nearby buildings and gunning down the UNSC soldiers that were trying to fend them off. I heard a loud familiar voice cackle over an intercom system.

"Even now in your innermost thoughts, the thoughts of revenge drive you wild, don't they, Sota? _How booooooring!_" Harper sang as I felt a surge of hate burn through my core and my lips turn into a horrible scowl.

"I'm gonna slit your fucking throat, you bastard!" I hissed furiously as I lunged forward, snatching a battle rifle off of the ground and letting the bullets fly, tearing through several soldiers and killing them instantly with holes in their torsos and necks.

I ran into the streets, shooting down each one of the Crimson Sun soldiers I saw. I spotted something move towards me from the side and dove forward, barely missing getting hit by a speeding Warthog. I grabbed a grenade that was lying conveniently lying on the ground and hurled it at the jeep, with it landing in the passenger's seat.

"Oh, son of a bit-" the driver yelled before an explosion blew the Warthog to hell. I smirked at the flaming wreckage and then turned my head to the large fortified building about a mile away, where the majority of the Crimson Sun was heading towards like flies drawn to honey. I picked up a fallen sniper rifle off of the ground and put away the battle rifle before running towards the building with adrenaline pounding through me and a grim smile on my face.

* * *

"Was knocking out both guards via dickpunch necessary, West?" Kent asked as he and the younger Virginia sister crept into the control room of the Danger Room.

"Maybe not, but it was sure fun," West grinned.

"Okay, and I thought your sister was the scary Virginia," Kent remarked as West cracked her fingers and began her work. While he didn't know the specifics of what just West had to do to make this thing work, he knew the results of their efforts though.

And the result would be fucking amazing.

"Except you know what's scary? That guy," West said casually, pointing to a familiar silver and white figure gunning down Crimson Soldiers in a way that made Kent very glad he was in another room.

"He needs to lighten up a little. I wonder what would happen if we tried to override what Sota set it to while making the scene a bit more pleasant?" West mused as her hands began to flex, as if itching to try it.

"You wanna mess with Sota?" Kent asked curiously, earning a raised eyebrow in response.

"No way. That sounds about as much fun as trying to break open a piñata with a dead cat," West said dryly as they watched me drop in through a hole in the ceiling. I gunned down four more soldiers and continued to quickly make my way through the building with one target in mind.

"Okay, let me ask that question in a different way. You wanna test out what this thing can really do?" Kent said with a wide grin. West debated it for a few moments before her hands were began flying away at the keyboard, a manic grin on her face.

* * *

I burst through the next room to see Harper stand there, laughing quietly under his breath as he leaned casually against the wall, as if not being held at gunpoint.

"_You_...Even if it's not the real you...I'm going to enjoy breaking you in half," I hissed, fury and loathing pouring out from me. Harper snickered and shook his head, getting off from the pillar.

"See Sota, that's the problem with you. So much anger! Did your parents never love you enough or something?" Harper asked casually, causing me to fire at him. Harper took cover behind the pillar as the floor exploded beneath me, causing me to drop into the floor below. I crashed onto the ground with a yell, my battle rifle clattering away from me as Harper dropped lightly into the room.

"Or it about the whole 'me brainwashing Jay' thing? Because Jay isn't brainwashed, that's just who he really is coming out. See, he's a lot like me-" Harper began to say before I rolled to my feet and fired a shot from my sniper rifle as I ripped it off my back. Harper jerked back as the shot went through his visor before he stumbled backwards...and fell.

"Gotcha," I muttered, feeling a great sense of satisfaction. Now I could see why people continuously used this thing when they weren't supposed to. It was an entirely new way to train, and I could absolutely see the appeal of it.

"See what I mean? Blinded by your pathetic anger, Sota," Harper's voice rang out from the building around me. I felt cold all over as I frantically looked around me, trying to figure out how it was possible.

"I kept telling _him_ that I was the only one he could trust. Look what you did to him," Harper laughed quietly as I felt myself tense in horror. I had been tricked, and I knew exactly who I had shot. I whirled around and made a move to leave, but the figure I had shot was now standing in front of me, drenched in his own blood.

"I knew it...You left me behind...When I needed you most, you deserted me…And now, you've killed me," Cal hissed as he ripped off his helmet, his lips contorted into a horrible snarl. I grit my teeth, ignoring the pangs of horror and guilt in my chest. This wasn't the real Cal. And he'd never go to Harper's side like this...Cal could be saved. There was still hope for him...I had to believe that.

"It's not you," I growled, closing my eyes tightly and forcing away Cal, who vanished after a moment.

"_Even after all this time, you remain his friend. You hurt so much, but you don't care... He means so much to you, doesn't he? He was..._is_...your best friend,"_ a woman's voice quietly spoke to me, her voice bouncing around the room. I turned around to find Harper sitting at a table with his feet propped up on it, smiling candidly at me as he tossed an apple up and down into the air.

"Howdy," Harper said casually, catching the apple and taking a bite. I took aim with my rifle before I felt the room shudder. Harper looked up in mild amusement and said, "Wonderful weather we're having, ain't it?"

"What?" I asked before the room began to distort and warp around me. I tried to keep the image of the fallen city in my mind, but it was ripped from me as Harper spoke up again.

"See, Sota, you won't be able to keep this image in your head. The servers are unstable and you're losing control of your oh so precious emotions. It's kind of adorable really," Harper giggled before he dissolved into sand.

I blinked and found myself in a bright and colorful environment and surrounded by the sound of laughter and screaming. I looked around saw myself...in an amusement park?

"What the hell is-" I began to say before I felt Harper crash into me, knocking me into a hotdog cart. I ripped out a knife from my armour and lunged at Harper, but he slipped away and ran deeper into the park.

"What the hell is going on here?" I asked myself before hearing a familiar voice speak up.

"Looks like our range of control is pretty good. Everything is solid!" West said with a chirp.

"_Excuse _me? What the _fuck_ are you doing here, West?" I barked out as I walked towards where I thought I had seen Harper run off, picking up my sniper rifle off of the ground.

"We're testing something out. Don't mind me!" West said cheerfully in reply. I felt a small surge of rage bubble up within me before I took a deep breath and sighed, trying to keep myself calm.

"Did your sister put you up to this?" I asked quietly, glancing around the park. I spotted Harper off in the distance, casually shooting passersby with a magnum and looking delighted. I ran towards the man, only for a stick of cotton candy to smack me in the face.

"Sorry, that was my bad!" Kent suddenly spoke up.

"And Kent's here too. Perfect," I muttered dryly as I flung the cotton candy to the ground. Harper turned towards me and waved as he grabbed an injured passerby, an older man in his sixties with grey hair, and blew his brains out in front of me.

I quickly took aim and fired, but Harper simply used the body in his arms as a human shield and began running towards me. I lowered my rifle as Harper threw the body onto the ground and collided with me, sending us both to the ground.

* * *

"Amusement park is good, but not what we're looking for, West. Any more ideas?" Kent asked West.

"Hmmm. Maybe it could be like an office party?" West suggested.

"How is that supposed to be awesome?" Kent asked.

"Maybe we could spike the drinks with-Nope, nevermind. Virgie said I can't spike people's drinks anymore. Not since the Pajama Incident," West said with a small sigh.

"What the _fuck_ is the Pajama Incident?" Kent asked, sounding confused as hell.

* * *

"Will you two shut the hell up?" I muttered as I kicked Harper as hard as I could off of me, sending him flying through the air and crashing into a souvenir shop. The man appeared with a pair of fuzzy dice wrapped around his neck, looking rather put out.

"Let's try the office thing," West said as I began to walk towards Harper. Harper then let out a cackle of mad delight as he vanished into thin air, replaced by a whirling ball of sand that vanished in the wind.

"What the _hell_?" I barked as the world shifted around me once again. I reappeared inside of a large office of some kind, with grey walls and cubicles surrounding me. The lights flickered for a moment before I heard him.

"I didn't want to kill them, Sota," a quiet, yet hauntingly familiar, voice spoke up from behind me. I spun around and fired a shot, but Ark let out a flash of light from his palm and blinded me.

"That may be, traitor, but you did it in the end. Mich and Massa are both gone because you! Georgia died trying to get to you! You're nothing but a fucking murderer!" I barked as fumbled blindly through the maze of walls and office furniture.

"And yet you care less for your teammates than I do now. Look at you, Sota. You trust no one. Your only two friends are both out of reach. You're alone, plain and simple," Ark said lightly before I felt something get pressed against my skull. My hand slowly reached for the knife at my belt as Ark continued to speak.

"What's so hard to understand, Sota? As much as I hate it, people die in wars. Mich and Massa were my sacrifices, and you know that what you feel, I feel too," Ark murmured as his finger tightened around the trigger before I gripped the knife in my hand tightly before driving it into Ark's stomach. The brief moment Ark took to grunt in pain was all I needed to swiftly disarm him and kick him to the ground and aim his own pistol back at him. Ark's face was smug underneath the visor though.

"Congratulations, Sota. You must feel so proud, knowing that you killed a traitor like me, who actually was capable of trusting people and fought for what he truly believed in, As opposed to you... who doesn't give a shit about his teammates and literally cannot trust them. You're only in this for petty revenge and you know it-" Ark laughed before a bullet went through the middle of his visor. My hand shook with anger, but I couldn't help but feel the sting of his words. Even Arkansas... No, his words didn't mean shit.

"_He's not wrong, you know,"_ the woman's voice spoke to me. I winced at the sound as I recognized who it was this time.

"_You wrap yourself up in your hate and mistrust, big brother. Why can't you see that not everyone is out to get you... Not everyone is like Ark and Penn,"_ Abby's voice spoke as she materialized in a burst of sand from the other side of the room. She was the way she was the last time I had seen her, a young woman with long black hair, with her icy blue eyes looking at me with weary affection and worry.

"You're not real," I muttered, causing my sister to smile wryly at me.

"I'm real enough in here, when you're losing control of yourself. This room plays on your deepest thoughts, your realest fears, and most importantly your emotions," Abby said quietly as she shrugged. She then pointed behind me, causing me to glance backwards and get a massive fist to the face.

"This is kind of hard to watch," Kent admitted as he watched me slowly get to my feet as a red and black armoured giant strode towards me. I got up and clenched and unclenched my fists as the larger man walked towards me. My sister vanished once more as yet another man who haunted my dreams spoke to me.

"Hmph. You're not much of a threat, Sota. Why should I even bother killing you?" Penn said with a low laugh.

"By all means, Penn, run away. Run away like you did when Carolina kicked your fucking teeth in!" I shot back, earning a roar of fury from the large man as he stomped towards me.

"Let's try this again," West muttered as she looked down at the screens in front of her and began to type away at a keyboard.

I ducked under a punch and stabbed Penn in the back, my lips bared in a snarl before the big man backhanded me to the ground. I rolled onto my hands and knees and managed to spring to my feet and jump out of range before Penn swung a deadly fist where my head had been a moment before.

"Too slow, too slow. Harper's hard to get a read on. Ark, he's convinced he's right. You though, big guy? You're much easier to deal with," I said with a smirk on my face.

"Wow, Sota's talking shit to Penn. I wonder if this will end up being like when Penn beat Jersey up...fuck, that fight sucked hard," Kent said in a bemused way, watching the fight taking place with interest.

"I've got it! Snow party!" West piped up before hunching herself over the keyboard in front of her and typing away madly.

I slammed my foot into Penn's visor and dropped down onto the ground, pulling out my sniper rifle and firing two shots into the larger of the two traitors. Penn hissed the bullets tore through his armour, but he remained standing. I knew that it'd take a whole hell of a lot more than that to keep him down.

The world shifted around me once again, and when the darkness faded I found myself standing in the middle of a snowbank with the moon shining brightly overhead. I slipped for a moment in the snow, and Penn lunged towards me, ripping the rifle out of my hands and snapping it in half as I got out of range of those damned fists.

I took a moment to take stock of my surroundings. It looked like something out of a Christmas card, with snow literally everywhere and a series of colorful houses around in the distance. I was fairly certain I saw a factory in the distance that resembled what Santa's Workshop should have looked like.

"_This might not be what I had in mind anymore, but this is... admittedly pretty awesome,"_ I thought for a moment, thinking that I'd have to come back to this village if I had another chance to use the Danger Room. I was broken out of my musing by Penn, when he punched me in the side of the head and sent me flying backwards.

"West, where's your imagination? Where's the carols? The hot chocolate? The _dancing snowmen_?" Kent demanded.

"I can do that last one!" West replied eagerly.

I ignored the two idiots in the observation tower, easier when they were reduced to a pair of annoying voices in my helmet, and got to my feet again as Penn advanced towards me. The snow began to shift around us as massive balls of snow slowly floated upwards. Penn and I watched as the balls of snow gradually formed into massive snowmen who then began to sing a musical number about the joys of Christmas and not dying a slow and painful death.

"How should I kill you, Sota? Should I crush your throat? Break open your ribcage? Or should I just shoot you like I did Massa?" Penn asked me, causing that bubble of fury within me to spill forth again. Some part of me knew I should try and remain calm but…

Penn then ran towards me, causing to pull out my pistol and fire a shot at his visor. The bullet simply bounced off his helmet and he drew his fist back slowly before throwing it forward. I ducked my head and jammed the pistol against Penn's chest and unloaded the entire clip directly into him, spraying the ground with crimson before Penn smashed his fist into my chest, sending me crashing into a cookie-mouthed snowman as they danced around us. I rolled to my feet, clutching my burning chest as Penn barreled towards me. He threw a fist at me, but I managed to dodge it and snatch up my pistol off the ground, reload it, and raise it upwards as Penn whirled around before I unloaded the entire round into his chest. The bullets bounced off of the large man's armour as he clenched his fists.

"Each of you will fall... One by one... Mich was the first. Massa the second. Georgia was the third. Will you be lucky number four, Sota?" Penn said in a low voice before I clenched my fists and got into a fighting stance.

"Maybe if you kill me you can finally make it to that number one spot you love so much," I retorted as Penn let out a bellow of anger and stomped towards me. As he did so, three snowmen burst out of the snow in front of me, causing Penn to smash through them and slow him down enough to where I was able to dodge his punch and kick him in the knee. Penn turned as he went down, punching me in the jaw and sending him flying into the air and crashing back down into the snow.

"_You keep on fighting, Sota, because despite what you say, you do care. You're just scared... scared that the scars Mich and Massa left behind will get ripped open again…"_

"Sota! End this thing!" West yelled through my helmet. I shook my head slightly as I got to my feet, only to find Penn grabbing me by the throat and hurling me into the small wooden shack nearby.

"I'm going to enjoy this... Maybe your little buddy Cal can be next. From what I hear, he cares about you as much as he does Harper. Funny how that works," Penn began to say before he snapped his fingers. Ark and Harper suddenly materialized in front of me, matching smirks on their faces. I forced myself to my feet, fueled by pure rage and adrenaline, only for Penn to grab me by the throat again.

"Poor Sota. He'll never be good enough, won't he?" Penn grunted as he threw me backwards into the snow.

"Surrounded by a team that'll never earn his trust, because according to him, everyone is out to get him," Ark said in a low voice.

"Loyal without a fault to a man who despises him. That hurts, doesn't it Sota?" Harper laughed as he flipped his knife again and again in his hands.

"And yet he's never had the bond you share with him...You know that once someone earns your trust, it never wavers," my sister spoke up once again. I looked to my left and saw her standing there in the snow, looking down at me worriedly.

"What does it _matter_ if he hates me? You and I both know that I'm alone now, Abby!" I said to Abby, who shook her head at me in response as I got to my feet.

"All you do is hide in your misery, brother...Make a change or two. Look a little deeper, Agent Minnesota. Maybe you'll find out a little something about yourself…and see you're not alone as you think you are," my sister said before she vanished in a burst of sand and ice. I brought up my knife to block a blow from Harper and sidestepped a swing from Penn, backing away from them. I eyed the three of them, three men who had changed everything and destroyed the small modicum of happiness I had held so dear once, before taking a deep breath.

"ENOUGH!" I screamed, causing entire room to go dark for a moment before it was replaced with the burning city I had conjured up earlier. Penn, Ark, and Harper vanished in front of me, though the victorious looks on their faces were enough to show that they had won this round. I'd have to do better…I decided to bring back that one true happy memory I had from before.

* * *

"Whoa! Look at that!" West gaped as the city vanished completely, and was replaced with a massive beach. The water was a serene blue and a massive stretch of gorgeous white sand lay in front of them. The sun shined brightly overhead in the cloudless sky, creating an incredible scene before them.

"Holy shit on a fucking sandwich! This is...perfect!" Kent said with a wide grin on his face.

"Absolutely. Who knew Sota had such an awesome beach in his head?" West mused as she watched the white and silver soldier stay standing, albeit panting heavily. With everything they saw, she debated going to ask him if he was okay, but then she realized he probably didn't even want the help.

"We can set up the preps ourselves, and with York and Florida in on this, it'll be all set for the rookies' party!" West cheered as Kent fist-bumped her.

"Yup yup!" Kent agreed before he looked down at the soldier standing in the sand below him, still unmoving.

"I hope he's going to be alright. He's an asshole, but this all can't be easy on him, facing what's in your head like that. I didn't know all of that...bothered him so much," West remarked quietly.

* * *

I ripped my helmet off of my head and flung it off with a yell, sending it crashing into the sand as I panted heavily in silence. I cast a glare at up Kent and West in their unseen viewing chamber, fury pounding through my veins before I heard a familiar voice behind me speak.

"Hey big brother, I got you a present!"

I looked behind me to see my sister, back in her little girl form again, grinning up at me with a small white and blue seashell in her hands. I looked down at the small little girl, one of the few people whose words could get through to me, before I reached down and grabbed the shell from her hands with a small smile on my face. I wasn't really feeling like it, but I smiled for her. I'd always do anything to make her happy, after all.

"Thanks, Abby. You're the best," I said quietly to the girl, who beamed at me before she vanished in a burst of sand. Everyone else on the beach also vanished on the spot, leaving me alone with my thoughts on the beach.

"_All you do is hide in your misery... Make a change. Look a little deeper, Agent Minnesota. Maybe you'll find out a little something about yourself… and see you're not alone as you think you are..."_

The words, despite knowing they were coming from the figment of my own mind, chilled me. Look deeper? Why? Why did people constantly try and force me to change? Make me believe in people in a way that I couldn't... I couldn't… Could I? Maybe not alone...

"Hey Sota, you alright man?" Kent asked after a moment, snapping me out of my thoughts. They'd either projected themselves in or come down to see the insides of my mind in person. It felt like an intrusion either way, but that hadn't stopped them yet. Maybe I was used to them invading. I looked at the two, West and Kent, for a brief moment before I wiped my sweaty bangs out of my face and sighed deeply.

"You two saw nothing," I muttered as I brushed past Kent and West. The two looked at each other for a moment before they nodded at each other and began talking excitedly about their plans for the party. What that meant, I didn't really want to know.

All I knew was that I need a good long time to think about things...And wonder exactly how many people would try to get through to me. My outlook, my past, my misery.

What would it take for it all to sink in?

...Maybe it had begun to already.


	14. One More Chance

**(A/N) Warg, here. It's been a long time, eh, folks? While we can't promise a return to form, we are returning to updates slowly, and we will get Phase Two done someday. That puppy's already twice the size of P1 and only about two-thirds of the way published, but it's rolling on. As a bit extra while Nick and I edit the main series, Bramble brings us back to a moment in the first finale, balancing on the edge of a happier could-have-been... Thank you again to all our reviewers!**

* * *

**One More Chance**

**Agent California**

**Written by Bramblestar14**

_"If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story." _\- Orson Welles

* * *

Silence permeated the waiting room, not a sound breaking the echoing, deafening nothingness and it was all California could do not to lose himself in that silence, the unknown truth of the room beyond that closed door weighing down on him and pressing him until he felt as though he couldn't breathe. None of the other Freelancers were waiting here alongside him; most of them had joined the _Mother of Invention_'s security teams in their pursuit of Arkansas and Pennsylvania's escape pod. It wasn't likely that Freelancer would catch their newly branded traitors though; the duo and their newest ally (he gave an angry hiss inside his own head, unwilling to break the silence that had fallen over the waiting room) had far too large a head-start. He, on the other hand, was stuck outside the emergency theatre, waiting desperately for any possible news on the condition of Agent Michigan. He wasn't an idiot; he'd seen Massachusetts pass away before the eyes of the stunned assembled Freelancers, the defeat in the eyes of the medics as they slowly shook their heads, packing up the only equipment that could have saved the woman when even it failed in its expressly designed purpose.

Alaska had pulled through, mostly likely due to sheer tenaciousness, leaving the Freelancers with one dead and one wounded Freelancer so far. He gritted his teeth at the thought of the stiff, cold form of the Australian lying there, still and peaceful in what was a very violent death at the hands of their local brute and shuddered as his thoughts turned back to Michigan, lying on her own bed, the uncertainty hovering over him and the grief-stricken Freelancers as they wondered if they were losing a second teammate today. And California wasn't an idiot; he knew the statistics of headshot fatalities, saw the despair in the eyes of Florida and North, the unspoken grief in Carolina's eyes at the loss of a subordinate and roommate, even the stiff fury of Maine's towering form when he asked quietly how Mich was doing. He knew that they didn't expect her to survive. He couldn't bring himself to agree with them. It'd take too much from him if he lost her, not now, not after everything they'd been through to get to this point. Not after she, of all the people, knew his whole story and could still stand the sight of him.

There was so much he still had to say to her. He grimaced, clenching his hands and stifling the sob that threatened to escape by biting down on the back of one of his fists, only relenting when his blank, wide-eyed stare into nothing was interrupted by the taste of copper in his mouth. He quickly removed his hand, watching the trail of red flow over his skin absently, wondering whether at that very moment the woman he loved, the woman he hadn't even told that he loved her, was bleeding in exactly the same way, except from a significantly worse injury. He felt like he'd taken the bullet himself, every time he thought back to her still form, the medics rushing around her prone body in desperation that he felt just as keenly. He couldn't do anything to help the people he loved once again and it was killing him as surely as it was killing Michigan.

Even Sota seemed to have given up. Cal closed his eyes, haunted by the vision that flashed behind them, the silent tear tracks running down Minnesota's normally closed-off face as he silently voiced his grief for everyone to see and hear, even without words. The look of desolation on his friend's face was etched into Cal's brain as he recalled his own slack feeling of incomprehension, of how was this happening_thiscouldnotbehappening-_

And Minnesota, who hated showing emotion of any kind in public, hugged him around the middle, burying his face into his roommate's shoulder and shaking silently as Cal slowly returned the gesture, eyes finding the injured woman over his roommate's shoulder and he just couldn't do anything. With all the promised power the Freelancers had, why were they all so helpless, out of armour and stood there, watching each other silently without any hope?

The door into the room beyond finally slid open with a hiss of pneumatics, an ominous silence pressing outwards from the operating theatre, several medics and surgeons that the Director had on call at all hours for apparently justified paranoia-based reasons spilling out, walking past the stricken Freelancer until he was finally confronted with the too-stiff Killian Jay, who met California's eyes after a few seconds of tense, oppressive silence and Cal nearly crumpled at the look in the medic's eyes, one that spoke too keenly of loss.

The man gave a long sigh and gestured over his shoulder at the room beyond, inviting Cal inside cautiously. "We've done what we can for her," he said quietly, glancing uncomfortably at Cal's shaking form, before moving on, leaving the Freelancer to stare after him in slack-jawed astonishment and fury. After everything, Massa, Alaska, Mich (he tried to contain his anguished cry at the thought), the man was just walking away? Was he that numb to the suffering the last few hours had instilled on previously unstoppable soldiers?

He turned back to the room beyond the door, the barrier between him and Mich that had slid aside, leaving nothing between them, so why did he feel so afraid of entering, of seeing what was beyond?

_Because you think she's dead,_ supplied the uncomfortably honest voice in the back of his mind. _You think you've lost the only person left for you to love and you think it's your fault that you never told her._

He opened his mouth slightly, perhaps to say something, to let out an unknown sound, before pausing, his breath coming ragged and uneven, face locked in his fear, before he shook himself and went to move into the theatre.

"Agent California." The southern drawl was surprisingly quiet and if Cal hadn't recognised it, he would have completed his reflexive motion of removing the hand on his shoulder by force. Instead, he found the Director's face, perhaps paler than usual, though whether that was due to blood loss or the deaths of his agents, Cal didn't know or care. His face was tight, a juxtaposition to his eyes, which were unusually soft as he took in the tremors running through California's body, the emotions boiling away beneath the surface that were close to breaking through the surface. "Are you going in to see her?"

The question was what set Cal off, the tone so understanding, as though the Director needed any reason to believe that he'd go in to say goodbye to the woman he loved so closely. He bared his teeth at his employer, a silent challenge of_ 'what do you think, old man?'_ before he turned and entered the room, not wanting to see the pity in Church's eyes, the sign that another person had given up on Michigan.

"I would advise you give her space, California. Crowding will not assist the recovery process."

He stopped dead, a jolt of lightning running through his system as he turned back to Church, his eyes flaring wide as the emotions shone through, the unshed tears finally making themselves known as _something _filled his chest, an unknown feeling that he didn't recognise, before he turned from the Director and tore into the room, his movements slowing to a standstill as the silence was finally broken. By the sound of a heart monitor, pulsing steadily. And he finally recognised the feelings that were rushing through him, that were changing the emotions filing the tears streaming from his eyes from pain into disbelief, the feelings of hope re-inflating his lungs that had felt compressed and unable to take in oxygen.

He took a few more steps towards the bed at the side of the room, towards the unconscious, but still alive form of Agent Michigan, his eyes drinking in the rise and fall of her chest, the soft sound of breathing that only sleep could induce, the deep sleep of life, not the rattling, empty silence of death.

He could hardly even register that he had fallen to his knees, that he'd finally released the strangled, broken noises from within his chest and that footsteps had followed him to stand beside him, a hand reassuming its position on its shoulder as the Director looked upon the survivor of Arkansas's attack, his eyes bright and a very small, sad smile playing at his face.

"How?" Cal managed to choke out, drinking in Michigan's form, the bandages covering the right hand side of her head, the unhealthy shade of grey her skin had turned and the fact that she looked so small in the bed, a million miles away from the woman that could lift a heavy machine gun and unleash a barrage of fire in any direction she wished. She might look as close to death as it was possible to look, but she had somehow survived.

"We do not know," Church said quietly, his eyes on the heart monitor, the rhythmic pulsing the definitive sign of life that every other Freelancer seemed to have given up on before. "Perhaps a reflexive movement upon seeing Arkansas pull the trigger. Perhaps he did not have the conviction to go through with his first act of rebellion. Whichever is the case, he did not succeed in keeping up his usual degree of accuracy, as my shoulder is also a representative of."

Cal slowly got to his feet, staggering to the end of the bed and staring at the woman he thought he had lost, his world that had collapsed around him ceasing in its self-destruction as he choked back a half-sob, half-laugh, which seemed entirely inappropriate for the situation, but he couldn't stop himself as a stunned smile formed on his face, the smile of a man who could not quite believe that the universe had decided to finally throw him a bone, to allow him this one spark of happiness in his life, rather than dousing it in cold and freezing, lonely chill like it had every other time.

"Congratulations, Agent California," Church continued, turning away. "I once stood where you do now. I understand how you were feeling until a moment ago. I know how it is the loneliest feeling imaginable, to lose that which you love most without being able to control or prevent it. Enjoy your time together while you can, Jason."

He hardly heard the footsteps as they walked away, leaving Cal alone with the sleeping Mich, for he was already moving around the bed to kneel beside her head, a hand reaching out to gently brush her hair from her uncovered eye, revelling silently at the heat under her skin, rather than the chill of death, the rush of air escaping from her nose and the twitch in her fingers as his hand took a gentle hold of hers.

He didn't know how long he sat there, taking in the fact that he wasn't going to be left alone once again, that he could keep what he loved for once, that he didn't need to say goodbye, or be left with the empty ache of being unable to say goodbye. Finally, his thumb gently running over her fingers again and again, he began to speak, not knowing what he was saying or why. He could still picture Alaska opening his eyes and turning to see Massa's cold form in the next bed, the pain that flashed behind his eyes and the dull groan of agony that erupted from his throat as he forced himself to roll onto his side, to reach out and take a hold of her hand. He could see Wyoming's eyes, devoid of amusement, or joy, or empathy as he turned and walked away, and Florida slide to the floor, pressed against the glass separating the Freelancers from their downed colleagues. And he knew just how lucky he was, that he hadn't loss Michigan in the same way that they had lost Massa, that they wouldn't have to bury a second friend.

"I guess Ark couldn't do it, Mich. Or you were quicker than he was, I imagine you'd like that," he managed a quiet chuckle, watching her in her restful, very much alive sleep. "We'll get him, together. Because that's how we'll do things. Together. I'm not losing you again, Mich. I can't." He leaned forwards and pressed his lips to her forehead for a moment, leaning into her warmth just to reassure himself that she was really here, really still with him. "I love you," he whispered into her hair, closing his eyes and giving a small gasp to avoid sobbing once again. "More than anything. I want you to know that, no matter what happens." He'd said it.

She gave the smallest of murmurs in her sleep, her head tilting ever so slightly to rest against his shoulder, and her fingers giving his the slightest reciprocal squeeze. He gave an astonished start, before relaxing against her and allowing her to use him as a recovery pillow. It wasn't like he was going anywhere, after all.

And when Sota found them like that an hour later, a look of joy breaking through the grief on his face as he looked up at his roommate and friend, Cal couldn't help the returning smile, even after a day like this. He looked back down at the woman he loved and back up at his friend, who was feeling the earth-shattering relief that was still flooding Cal's veins. The three of them were together once again, despite the odds.

And Cal knew everything was going to be alright.


End file.
